


House for Intellectually and Artistically Gifted Students 3

by Jilligor



Series: HIAGS 3 [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), troye sivan - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Comedy, DAN AND PHIL - Freeform, Dan Howell - Freeform, Explicit Language, Gay Love, Homophobia, Love, M/M, Multi, Obsession, Phandom - Freeform, Phil Lester - Freeform, Rape, Romance, Sean McLoughlin - Freeform, Sex, Smut, Trauma, University, alternative universe, jacksepticeye - Freeform, troye sivan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 103,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jilligor/pseuds/Jilligor
Summary: Dan, Phil, Troye and several others attend the House for Intellectually and Artistically Gifted Students (HIAGS) at Baines University in New York, USA, just outside of New York City. Together they navigate relationships, friendships, and enemies in their transformative years. And have lots of sex!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments or feedback! I’d love to know what you think!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suggest these wonderful YouTube videos to enhance your experience:
> 
> By felucca:  
https://youtu.be/-DUnmYy7WRI
> 
> By erin schwartz:  
https://youtu.be/UwlofnMX0Pw
> 
> 😁👍

Dan  
As I kneel between the open legs around me, I reach down with both hands and slowly caress the milky white skin of his shoulder blades, to the small of his back. His shaky breaths just barely touch my ears as I lean over him, my tongue tracing a long, straight line down his spine. I linger there, just above his ass, nibbling and kissing until I hear him gasp. It amazes me that he still reacts with such surprise with every move I make, even after two years. Maybe that’s why I find him so endearing.  
When he starts to squirm under my lips, I pull back some and stick two fingers in my salivating mouth, soaking them thoroughly. He inhales sharply as I gently continue the imaginary line from his back to the dark crevice below, stopping finally when I feel his puckered entrance. Pause, for only a moment, and then I slide them inside, drawing a low moan from the pillow above me. His hips swivel slightly as I tease him, deliberately moving those two mere digits in and out of him. His voice cracks and breaks off into a frustrated sigh, but I refuse to be rushed.  
“Dan,” he whimpers, turning his head on the pillow to try and look back at me.  
I shush him softly as I use my free hand to grab the tube of lube on the bed beside me. I expertly pop the cap on it and manage to get enough onto my fingers before I drop it unceremoniously back by my leg. Then I slip my arm beneath him, finding his cock pulsing against his belly, and I carefully circle my fingers around him, squeezing ever so slightly. He stuffs his face back into the pillow and groans, his hips twitching with the sensation I’m pulling from him in a slow, infuriating rhythm.  
My own breathing starts to speed up as I watch his body responding to my ministrations. He’s grinding into my hand, into the mattress, frustrated that I’m not giving him just what he wants yet. I suppose I’ve been a bit selfish, hogging all the fun of watching him wriggle because it makes me hard. So I reluctantly ease up on the foreplay, releasing him from my dominant left hand and sliding my fingers out of him, leaning back to instead concentrate on ripping open the condom wrapper. He’s still breathing hard, but he steals a look over his shoulder to see me rolling the slippery bugger onto my already erect cock. It’s dim in the room but I catch a faint glint in his eyes as he regards me heatedly. Normally those gorgeous bright baby blues are wide and alert, but at the moment they’re half-lidded and dark.  
We’ve discovered before that, whether lubricated or not, just a condom won’t do for me. Not to brag, but I’ve been rather gifted in the pants department, even when not fully hard. So extra lube is necessary. I never hurt him intentionally, but there were several days-after where it was pretty uncomfortable for him to sit very long. So I invested in some KY, what’s the harm? I squeeze some onto my hands and liberally moisten both myself and him up. He shivers at the contact when I meticulously ensure his ass is properly slathered in the stuff, then I ever so cautiously guide my aching cock inside him, relishing the moan he lets out – forgoing the pillow and letting his voice echo through the room. He’s too far gone to care who hears by now.  
I clasp a bony hip in my best hand and push myself further in, slowly, as I lean forward and steady myself on my other arm. Biting my lip at the tightness, eyes rolling back in my head, I try and fail to regulate my breathing. Before I even hit his sweet prostate, I’m gasping for air and trying not to buck my own hips back to crash into him again. Self-control, that’s what I’ve learned with Phil. In many arenas – we’re not the perfect couple by any means – but this one, in the bedroom, is especially precious to me. So I force myself to keep it slow, even if he’s stretching back, trying to urge me on faster. In fact, he pushes back into me so hard that I catch myself moaning into the back of his neck. I quickly plant both hands on the mattress and pull up a few inches, freezing my hips in mid-thrust.  
“Not yet,” I hiss at him, bowing my head to plant a few kisses on his spine. He simmers down a bit, trusting my command of the situation, and I regain control of myself and my breathing. When I feel ready again, I push on, biting my lip again when he stiffens beneath me and tightens around my cock. The slight resistance doesn’t worry me, as he always has a harder time taking all of me inside. But he makes no move to stop me, and within seconds I’m heaving a long breath of satisfaction at his moan when I hit his prostate. I pause again, but only for a moment before I rock my hips back and forth against him, rubbing internally to make him gasp for air and grip the sheets tightly in his fists. He buries his face in the pillow again and groans deeply, grinding back into me with every tiny thrust, until I’m balancing myself on my elbows and pulling out farther and farther before sliding back home again.  
“Dan,” he whimpers, groping beside him for something. I blindly think he needs more lube, but when I go to reach for it, he snatches my hand in his and pulls it in close to his chest, squeezing firmly.  
It doesn’t take me long to find a good rhythm, one that he can match me with, and I lean my head down on the back of his, eyes closed in ecstasy as I hear our bodies meshing together and his vocal reactions. I can feel him humping the mattress to sate his own erection, but when I make a move to reach for it, he only grips my hand tighter. He doesn’t care about absolute satisfaction so much as true intimacy, and if entwining our fingers is all that needs, I’m all for it. It was a funny little motion to me at first, two years ago, but he kept persisting until I started feeling that closeness as well with that one simple action.  
But for all I could go on about the real love here, between us, the bottom line is that after several minutes of cautious thrusting, I’m flat-out fucking him, drawing out those desperate moans and unable to contain them myself. I know he’s getting close because his ass starts to constrict around me, clenching me tightly, and the tighter he gets, the less control I have over myself. I wonder faintly if I’m going to need to suck him off after this – not that I would mind – but just as the fleeting thought flickers through my mind, he’s turning his head to me as far as he can stretch, gasping, “Oh god, Dan…I think…I’m gonna….I’m c-coming…”  
I silence him this one time by shifting forward enough to close my mouth around his in a heated, sweaty kiss while I keep slamming into him. He tenses fiercely around me, a domino reaction – his orgasm hits him hard, and clenching his ass around my cock, causes mine. I moan thickly into his mouth and give one more hard thrust before I feel myself giving into the heady, dizzying sensation. Emptying what feels like a ton of semen into the condom whilst still inside him. I don’t even want to think about what he’s done to the sheets below him.  
This is my bed, after all.  
But in the lull after the storm, still lying on top of him, my cock still buried deep inside him, I don’t really care. I hang my head over his shoulder and groan while he tries to catch his breath, and I vaguely realize that we’re still holding hands.

Technically we’re not supposed to keep food in our rooms, but thankfully Phil has chosen to believe this rule does not apply to him. Despite even my own nagging. As he pulls the Milano cookies out of the bedside drawer – not the same one we keep the lube in – I let out a grateful groan and eagerly hold out my hand for one. He shuffles back under the blanket I’ve pulled up around us and obliges me, and the taste of chocolate is so sweet and delectable melting on my tongue that I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headboard. He chooses another for himself and settles in against my chest and shoulder.  
We’re quiet enough for a long moment that when the timid knock comes to the door, we’re actually able to hear it. Usually we’d be bickering or laughing too hard to catch it, but in our hazy, post-coital, cookie-munching silence, we’re both even able to recognize it.  
“Come in, Troye,” Phil calls when he registers that I can’t be bothered to answer around a second cookie in my mouth.  
The door opens slightly and a gentle, heavily Aussie-accented voice asks, “Are you guys decent?”  
Polite of him to ask, but I still find myself blurting out haughtily, “Never!”  
The kid steps into the room, the familiar shock of platinum blond hair in a ruffled, worn state. In the dim lighting of just one lamp, I can see he looks tired and exasperated, but he smirks nonetheless. “Just meant if you were naked.”  
It’s a comfort to not have to fake anything with some people. Or lie, cover up, or anything else I found myself doing in my years prior to coming to Baines.  
“It’s fine, Troye,” Phil assures him. “Come on in.”  
He sighs gratefully and closes the door, slipping his tiny frame onto Phil’s empty bed. He’s only a few feet away but I can still catch a whiff of cigarette smoke and roses. It’s a familiar scent by now, a good one.  
“I don’t wanna be a bother,” he starts, wringing his pale, long-fingered hands together. “But I just got back and I…” He pauses to shudder and glance towards the door briefly before looking back at us pleadingly. “I think Logan’s—I know Logan is with someone,” he explains, the disdain clearly evident on his face and in his voice. “I think it might be Alinity.” He shakes his head. “I can’t go in there.”  
I groan in sympathy, rolling my eyes, while Phil speaks for the both of us, “Don’t worry, mate, we’ve got you covered. I can just stay right here tonight. You can take my bed.”  
I let out a startled, wordless cry at this abrupt forwardness, but Phil just glances up at me from where he’s still lounging comfortably against my chest. “Oh come on, you can’t expect him to be exposed to that monstrosity!”  
I raise my eyebrows in consideration and notice that Troye is staring at me in particular, as if holding his breath.  
I swallow the rest of my cookie and scoff, “Come on, d’you really think we’d send you back into that?”  
He sighs again with relief and presses his hands together as if in prayer. “Thank you!” He wrinkles his nose as he kicks off his shoes and slides further onto Phil’s bed. “It’s not that I don’t know what typical men and women do,” he explains, “but the thought of Logan…well, I don’t care who he does, but I just don’t want to know about it.” He shivers again and emphasizes, “The guy just skeeves me out.”  
Phil nods as I chuckle out loud. “You’re not the only one, babe,” I assure him. “Sorry, but your roommate is just one confusing ball of sick, if you ask me.”  
Phil takes the time now to lift a curious eyebrow at him and ask knowingly, “And where were you tonight, out so late, young man? Hmmm?”  
Troye clears his throat, ducking his head to capture his face in Phil’s unused pillow. He mumbles something neither of us can hear, so we ask in annoying unison, “What?”  
Troye giggles and presses his face further into the pillow, shrugging his shoulders dramatically.  
“Oh,” Phil says with an air of superiority. “Not wanting to say, hmmm? Could it be you were spending a little too much time in a certain upper classman’s dorm on campus? A certain…model, I believe?”  
“He’s not just a model,” Troye enunciates through the pillow. “It’s just a job. To help pay for school.”  
I squint at him. “What is Jacob’s major anyway?”  
At this he finally lifts his head and answers seriously, “Photography.”  
“Ah. And are you…his favorite subject?” I ask pointedly.  
He smirks and admits with averted eyes, “He needs to practice…”  
“So, young man,” Phil continues as if he’s the boy’s disapproving uncle, “is this…connection, shall we say, what you might call…a hook-up? Or something more?”  
“We’re just friends,” Troye insists with a lighthearted chuckle. He pauses momentarily before adding under his breath, “At least, so far. We’ll see.”  
I tilt my head to the side. “So if you’re over there so late, why don’t you just stay over? It’s not like it’s forbidden.”  
He hesitates, then shrugs uncomfortably. “Among other reasons, his roommate isn’t very…accommodating.”  
“Oh, is he really picky?” Phil asks sympathetically.  
“Yes, against what he calls `fags.’”  
Phil and I cringe at the same time, but I’m the one to state the obvious. “That must be tough on Jacob.”  
“He says he can take it,” Troye insists in a not-so-convincing tone. “Besides, I don’t think the guy really has a clue that Jacob’s queer. Me, I exude it, I think, so he has a real dislike for me, and Jacob doesn’t want me to be subjected to that. Plus he says he’s been saving up to get his own place in town. But until then, Jacob can play along as one of the dudes,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “At least for short periods of time.”  
“Uh-huh,” Phil says skeptically. “And what about the periods of time where he’s ramming his tongue down your throat?”  
I gasp and slap his bare arm. “Philip Lester!”  
“What?” he cries defensively. “I mean, it is true, isn’t it?”  
“That’s rude!” I insist, though I’m snickering as I say so. “He just said they’re just friends.”  
Phil snorts, then gestures to the Aussie. “Yeah, like you and I were just friends two years ago. Studying for a test whilst wanking each other off. It’s not like they do that – do you?” he asks pointedly, switching a sharp glare onto our younger friend like some mother bear.  
But we never get an answer, as Troye has already fallen asleep on Phil’s bed. Passed out cold.  
I poke Phil on the top of the head. “What’s so bad about it?” I whisper. “We had fun.”  
“Yeah,” Phil agrees ominously. “A bit too much fun, really…”  
I scoff and shift further down on the mattress to relax into the pillow. “Never have too much fun.” That, coming from me, is a goddamn miracle.

Traci  
I haven’t been this nervous in decades. Give me a full classroom of brand new students, I’ll take that over today’s meeting anytime. But the time is ticking down, and before long my old friends from the HIAGS will be here. Ready to chat, ready to find out about things – ready to judge.  
I try to remind myself that they aren’t like that, that they’re all pretty relaxed people who take things in stride. But no, my nerves aren’t playing along, and it’s all I can do to keep from crawling out of my skin as I pace the kitchen area, wringing my hands together.  
Alec comes out of his room on the first floor, the RA quarters, and eyes me up after his initial greeting of a mute nod. “Something wrong, Trace?” he asks as he assembles his coffee. The kid is quick to read anyone, especially the likes of me, and I don’t even bother holding back. I blurt out that I’ve arranged to meet my old friends here before heading into town for a bit, and Alec nods slowly with his trademark old-man understanding. For twenty-four, he has the personality of someone three times his age.  
“You’re afraid of what they’ll say about the newest crew?” Alec asks, sitting at the table and sipping from his blank black mug. The kid’s simply murky to read himself, at best. He sniffs and sits back in his seat, shrugging it off. “What’s the worst they can say? The kids are unruly? Haven’t they always been? And really, this group now isn’t so bad…” He pauses to reconsider, correcting himself, “Besides Felix, this group isn’t so bad. And you’ve had much more difficult kids than these guys. Didn’t Simon cause several new rules to be instated while he was here?”  
I smirk, recalling the devious Scottish boy’s wild blue eyes. He still makes me laugh with exasperation when I think of him. “Including the `no freshmen’ rule,” I confirm. “But he was still wildly talented.”  
“And these kids aren’t?”  
I hesitate, a few of their names flashing through my mind.  
“Okay, so maybe they’re not as flamboyantly artistic as other years,” he admits, “but they’re still great at what they do, and you do have quite a few gems steeped in talent.” He clears his throat, reaching out to nudge me with his elbow. “Including a certain biological relative you’ve got hiding away…”  
I groan and hold a hand to my head. “That’s the other thing,” I explain with a sigh.  
“What’s that?”  
I cringe. “My old friends… They don’t exactly… know… about that. About him.”  
“Ah.” Alec clears his throat and stands with his mug. “That,” he says pointedly, “is definitely a problem then.”  
And as he walks back out to return to his room, I have to keep from tripping him. What a fantastic help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix attempts to make a video; Dan gets a nice surprise from Phil; Traci gets a not-so-nice surprise from a non-House member.

Felix  
I hear the chatter from the common room and take a hot stance on the dance (wooden) floor before moonwalking in to various applause and whoops from the audience.  
“All right already, Mr. Jackson,” Mark teases me as I do a beautifully dramatic spin in my spot to face them all, arms outstretched like a god. “You took your fuckin’ time, now get in place.”  
There is a cackle from my usual quad of groupies and Dan calls out, “What the hell took you so long, you big piece of fail!?”  
“Oi!” I caution him with a pointed finger. “Do not question the Felix! The Felix is all-knowing and unrelenting!”  
“Here,” Jack cuts in with a chuckle, slamming a controller against my chest. “Does the all-knowing Felix remember how to game?”  
“Shut your mouth, peasant!” I sneer. “The Great Felix know gaming! The Felix has mighty strong gaming…game…”  
“Shut up,” Mark groans, rolling his eyes as he sets up the camera facing us. “Do you know how to talk or how to play? Because we’re recording this one, you know, for the channel. It would’ve been nice to start on time.”  
My quad ooooohs at that taunt and I settle them with raised hands. “Shh, my lovelies, hush. Marzia, my queen; Phil, my lad; Troye, my…page…”  
“Wot!?”  
“And Dan, my sage keeper… Do not fret, for I have brought with me, my ultra mega-style killing moves!”  
“What did take you so long, you fool?” Jack continues to badger the Great Felix. “Looking up cheat codes?”  
“No!” I insist haughtily. “I was not looking to cheat! I was, um…” I snicker and avert my eyes to my controller, testing the buttons out on my fingers. “The Great Felix was oversleeping,” I snort.  
Even my precious quad take this moment to pelt various pretzel sticks and chips at me, groaning in disappointment.  
“Oh, for shame!” I retort. “Even the Great Felix is bound to make some mistakes…”  
“Felix,” Jack cringes at me. “Could you drop the third-person bit already, aye? It’s getting a bit tired. It’s only bloody Mario Kart.”  
I reach back to scratch my head and shrug. “Eh, you may be right, Jackie boy.” I glance around the room for the rest of my entourage. “Hey, where’s PJ?”  
“Can’t come,” Jackie answers his liege.  
“We all know that little issue of his,” I scoff, “I mean, why isn’t he here?”  
“He’s workin’ on a paper this weekend.”  
I must groan and roll my eyes for my dear departed friend, who values actual work over what should take priority. “What a fuckin’ pussy. Pardon me, Marzia.”  
The lovely female perched beside Dan on the couch behind me only smiles placidly and waves. Oh, what a cute little wave she doth have…  
“Hey, loverboy,” Mark barks to get my attention. “Quit flirting and pay attention.”  
I’m about to tell him off, but instead I get distracted by Dan and Phil, who are leaning into each other, whispering amongst themselves.  
“Oi!” I try to interrupt, slamming the controller on my hand. “No shushy talk, boys, got it? This is Felix time here, right? You two stop peeping to each other and concentrate more on cheering on your exulted leader!”  
Dan only pauses in their conversation long enough to give his master a wry smirk. “Mark can’t even get the damn thing working yet. Honestly, guys, give in and play something on a current console, please? Your old ones don’t even work anymore. And look at all the mess you have to go through! Ever hear of `wireless’? It’s the future of gaming. Oh, no wait – it’s the now of gaming!”  
“It will work!” Mark calls from behind the television where he’s still messing about with wires. Just him saying that makes me wonder if Dan’s not right…  
“Just play it on an emulator,” Phil calls back helpfully. “Computers, laptops – way more suited for playing old games—“  
“It is not an old game!” I roar suddenly. “It is a classic!”  
The two of them exchange knowing glances before busting out laughing.  
“You mean dinosaur,” Dan corrects me. “At least play MK4!”  
Mark lifts his head from behind the television and admits with a sigh, “He may be right, Felix. This is a mess back here. Maybe just boot up my laptop—“  
“No!” I insist passionately. “The original Mario Kart was and is a classic! We shall play it as I’ve said, as it’s meant to be played—“ I stomp over to the console and am about to whack it with my hand – but then think better of it and tap it ever so gently. “On this piece of shit right here! It’s the gimmick of the episode, boys!” I remind my compatriots of my original idea. “Playing a classic—“  
“Relic,” Dan cuts in.  
“—on a classic!”  
“Dinosaur.” He stands up with a sigh and gestures to Phil. “C’mon, Philly, we’d better save Mark from his own death by strangulation.”  
The two giants – and that’s next to Mark, too – manhandle the American out of the way and within minutes the console, television, and camera are all up and running.  
Fucking baby nerds. Even though they’re my age.  
“Yeah?” I taunt them. “Well…I can pick my nose clean in under two minutes!” I spin back to Marzia and give her a sultry grin and wink.  
I hear Dan slap his forehead as he and Phil make their way back to their seats.  
We start recording, and for the first half an hour or so, we get a lot of great footage for the video. Funny banter, scathing insults, attacking each other’s controllers to mess the other person up.  
It’s then that I notice a rustle from behind me, and I turn just in time to see Dan leading Phil out of the room by his hand.  
“Oi!” I call. “Oi! There’s no leaving! Get back here, you mangy little queers!” I turn to the others, who are all giggling at me, and demand, “You know what they’re gonna go do, right?”  
“Uh, have a good time?” Jack suggests.  
“During my hour of glory!” I’m offended that our video would be seen as anything but a good time! “This is unacceptable!”  
“Yeah,” Mark utters. “Since it’s hardly your moment of glory – you’ve been second for the last twenty minutes.”  
“But not last! Troye!” I wave a hand toward the door. “Go fetch them back, you fake blond twink.”  
Troye raises his eyebrows at that, but doesn’t make a move to get up. “Uh, you know what they’re gonna do, I’m not walking in on that.”  
“Bloody bloody bloody,” I curse, stomping my foot. “I’d pay to watch that! Fine, if you won’t go get them, I will.”  
That’s what causes the little Aussie to leap to his feet – chasing me down as I storm out of the room, apparently attempting to catch up to me before I can reach their room. Well, if they think screwing around is more important than my video, they can deal with a little Felix in their sex lives.  
I start to run.  
“Felix! Knock it off! I’m meant to strut, not run!”  
I ignore the shrimp and keep jogging until I reach their door. And kick the fucker in.  
To my surprise (and disappointment), the two of them aren’t snogging each other all over. Dan’s standing at his desk, holding a couple of notebooks in his hand and looking shocked at the interruption. Phil is sat at his, a textbook open in front of him, but he’s spun around to gape at me in shock.  
“Yes, Felix?” Dan asks pointedly. “Something you need?”  
“Uhhh, no,” I decide, just as Troye comes bounding up beside me all out of breath. “Nothing, actually. Uh…What’re you guys up to?” I cover cleverly. “I thought you were gonna watch the video being made…”  
“Sorry, Felix,” Dan sighs. “Work’s work. We won’t have time tomorrow because Traci insists on us all having that big dinner with his friends.”  
I clear my throat and nod. “Ah. Well. That makes sense. Okay. All is well here. Carry on.” And I close the door behind me – only to turn and nearly run into the pretty but exasperated face of my page.  
“Satisfied?” he asks flatly.  
I sigh and hook an arm around his neck, pulling him with me as I start back to the common room. “Y’know, twink…”  
“Do you even know my name?”  
“Don’t set your hopes too high. You’ll only have them crushed in the end.”

Dan  
I glance over at Phil after counting down from ten. “Think it’s safe?”  
Phil lets out a breath of air and comes back over to my bed, grabbing me by the collar. “Thought he’d got us that time.”  
And before I can think of a witty reply, my mind is washed away by the force of his kiss, pulling me in fiercely and directing me back onto the bed – where we’d been before we’d heard the Swedish elephant come racing down the hallway.  
We’d actually started our impromptu makeout session when we’d turned the corner, out of view from the common room entirely. It was still another two bedrooms down the hallway until ours, but we spent every second of it groping and snogging each other. We could barely get to our room before Phil was trying to get my pants open. Thankfully I wasn’t in any unfixable state of undress by the time we’d heard him coming.  
Speaking of coming…  
Now, however, Phil pushes me backward onto my bed and starts eagerly working at my belt and pants again, kneeling between my legs whilst leaning over to smother me with a heated kiss. I know I’d been the one to teasingly suggest we leave the video to do something else; I just didn’t realize how into the idea Phil was. I suppose the boy had a sexy dream last night. Or, I don’t know, maybe he actually likes me or something.  
He slides my pants and boxers off simultaneously, stripping them from my legs before I can even attempt to help him, and tosses them to the floor carelessly. I can barely get comfortable enough on the bed before he leans over my waist, shoving my oversized shirt up to expose my hips and belly, and starts a trail of moist kisses from my chest downward, his hands rubbing my thighs up to just underneath my ass. His touch is soft but urgent, like a massage. He reaches my half-erect cock and pauses to nibble teasingly at me, causing me to lean further back, my head falling sideways on my pillow, eyes closed as I simply enjoy his touch.  
I’m never sure with Phil. Usually when I instigate these things, I know where it’s going. But with him, whether he or I suggest fooling around, he could let me take the reigns or prefer to be in control himself. Apparently today he wants to call the shots, as he’s much faster at the actual touching and moving things along than I am, even if I was the one to suggest we sneak away for a bit. I might just feel a bit sluggish because it’s a Saturday and I’m being lazy, or he just might be incredibly horny for no reason at all.  
Maybe he really likes me.  
I know, we’re technically “together,” so why wouldn’t he like me? But even with our rock-hard friendship with a thick overlay of romantic/sexual tension, I feel uncertain at times. I wonder what he sees in me, what a loser I’ve become, and how could anyone feel attracted to that? But he persists, in both aspects of our relationship, so who am I to rob him of those feelings with self-deprecation?  
So when he fully takes me inside his mouth, as far as he can, and starts sucking rather hungrily, all doubt and self-loathing melts away into a beautifully rich, heady buzz as I close my eyes and moan at the sensation. A hand reaches for him blindly, grasping his soft black hair in slightly trembling fingers, and I simply feel his head bob up and down as he continues fervently, groaning back to me in equal satisfaction. I’m not above giving him a blowjob myself, but it wasn’t until I did start doing that, that I realized the allure of it. It had never sickened me before, but I didn’t see how it could be pleasing to both parties – until I saw and heard his reaction. Which is exactly what he’s doing with me right now, I know without opening my eyes. Just watching my face, listening to my sighs and moans, enjoying the fuck out of pleasing me.  
He only regrets, he’s told me before, that he can’t fit all of me into his mouth at once. Yet another reference to my (secretly large) endowment. But it doesn’t matter to me – what he can do, he does extremely well, and I just lay back and let myself take it, even rolling my hips along with his movements, as I know his hands are holding me there and he likes it when I do that. I can feel his fingers clenching them now, then loosening to caress my skin as I move. The touch feels almost electric between us. An almost tangible force being created between us as we rock together on the mattress. My mind becomes a blur, my breathing ragged and heavy, and with nearly every thrust I feel another faint cry slipping from my lips.  
His mouth is so warm, so wet and demanding around me, eager to pull every drop of me out. I grip his hair tighter every so often when, no, no, it’s too much, too good, I’ll go too soon, and he eases up ever so slightly, only to drag me right back to that point again. Until finally, I can’t hang on any longer, and I hiss at him a warning – but he doesn’t let up. I repeat myself, “Phil, please – I’m gonna c—“  
He nods, locking his eyes with mine, and there’s a blatant message there: Do it. And just the idea that he wants to…  
I bite my lip hard as I sit up slightly, and within seconds I’m doused in my orgasm, head falling back and fists gripping the sheets. And Phil really and truly is lapping it up, sucking my cock dry of every drop of cum. I can’t believe he’s done it, really – he always either spits it out or lets me finish with my hand, but this time he actually swallows. It’s both revolting – and the hottest thing ever.  
When I catch my breath enough, I straighten up, my hand still lost in his hair, and I pull him up to me, not even worrying about what it might be like to taste myself on his lips. I just want to taste him. I catch him with a deep, sloppy kiss, and he moans into my mouth for the intensity of it.  
So enamored are we in this act, that when the sharp and sudden sound of crashing glass from afar reaches us, we just barely pull away to look each other in the eye.  
“What was that?” he whispers.  
I hesitate, lowering my gaze to his lips. I shrug it off. “Nothing to do with us.”  
He nods enthusiastically as I smash my lips back into his and he crawls on top of me, knocking me onto my back again.  
Maybe he’s got some more ideas in mind. Think I’ll let it play out.

Traci  
After wringing my hands together in the kitchen for hour, the time finally comes; the little minivan pulls up behind the house, and as the doors open, I let myself out through the back door and start to approach my oldest and closest friends in the world.  
One by one they pile out, every single one looking just like they did over twenty years ago, but only with a little age added to their smiling faces. Jarvis, Toby, Armand, the three of them sticking together like rice, as usual; Lizzie and Damon, a couple close pieces stuck in a clump not far from the others; Ewan and Brian, a little further behind, but there all the same in the little weird rice pot.  
And they all look so happy to see me. After so long without seeing them in person – there’s text, there’s Skype, there’s everything else, but in person never can be beaten – my anxieties abate and I’m ready to just grab every single one of them and squeeze them to oblivion in an embrace.  
But I’m cut off, however, when a loud voice cuts screaming through the sky, and something above me crashes violently through the air. The frozen smile on my face turns and I look up to see a common room chair falling from the second story window to break and splinter on the grass below, followed by a shower of glass.  
I freeze in my spot, eyes growing wider and wider.  
“Uh, Trace,” comes Alec’s voice as he pokes his head out of the back door. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it…” And he disappears inside faster than I can recover.  
I turn back to the others and offer a meek, “Hi, guys.”  
“Ah,” Ewan breaks the awkward silence, “so I see not much has changed.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec fixes everything; Phil contemplates his boyfriend; Logan is NOT gay - he just fancies his roommate

Alec  
Oh, my job.  
As Mark and I struggle to tape the thick plastic sheet over the empty space where a window once was, I have to reassure him, “Look, I get that you were just overwhelmed with rage. I get that Felix and Jack together can cause this reaction. But I am going to have to charge you for the window. No rush, it’s not too cold out right now, and I need to get an estimate, considering this is such an old house and these windows are oddly shaped. But I do have to penalize you for throwing the chair through the window.”  
He cringes with a heap of guilt on his face. “And the chair?”  
I blow a raspberry and shake my head. “These chairs are so old, Traci used to sit in them. I don’t give a shit about the chair. I’m worried about the window. So you got it? That okay with you?”  
He tilts his head to the side for a second. “Well, none of it was okay with me, but it happened, so I gotta accept it. I get it, Alec. Thanks for understanding.”  
Once we finish taping the rest of it up, I pause to slap him on the back, and I think he might lurch forward a bit when I do.  
“No problem, right, man?”  
He nods reluctantly, staring at the plastic. Then he snaps his head around to gape at me. “Do I have to see Traci when I leave?”  
I chuckle at that, but then recall the frozen, maniacal smile on the man’s face when the incident originally occurred. “I-I’d better take you down the other way to the front door.”  
He looks much more relieved, even if he does knit his brow while studying the plastic, obviously worried if it will be enough. But oh boy, he won’t worry about that so much when he gets the bill for the window.  
Being an RA kind of sucks sometimes. Okay, a lot. I have to clean up after everybody’s messes, try to settle disputes, and all while being Traci’s T.A. and putting up with his idiosyncrasies. And this isn’t just some typical dorm, oh no. This is the House. And with the House comes more responsibility than fucking Spiderman. Saving humanity? Fuck that. I gotta deal with so much shit, every day, that I wonder why I accepted this job.  
Then I remember: my own connected quarters on the first floor, with a locking door; the nice, fat paycheck; and a juicy tidbit on my resume. They may not seem like big things, but to me, they sure as hell are.  
Besides, for the most part, the actual members of the House are pretty damn entertaining and fun, not to mention some of the most relatable and intriguing people. So I don’t mind the negatives enough to leave. This is my third year in a row doing it, and I may just stay on all through graduate school. Traci thinks I’m crazy to do it, but he’s been doing this for, like, fifty years or something, so of course he’d think that.  
I know. It’s not fifty years. But he himself is getting up there in age, even he admits it.  
Thankfully, I have my own form of release when things get too hectic here. As a good half of the males here are gay, it shouldn’t come to anyone as a surprise that their RA is as well. And going to visit my boyfriend – a, um, much older man in the city whose penthouse is basically unbelievable and whose job is to sit on his ass while his nightclub rakes in the cash – well, it’s just a relief, and a release, if you know what I mean, to get to see him. I’ve no idea how old he is, though he only looks to be in his twenties, but he insists he’s older. But age makes no difference to me, as I’m no curious little teenager ready to be preyed upon. We could go the rest of our lives and he could not tell me and I would be perfectly fine with it.  
As long as he keeps doing the things he does to me…  
Unfortunately, this entire weekend is shot as far as visiting, unless he were to come over here, which he only does on occasion. But with Traci and his friends taking over the dining room table, as they’re doing right now while I lead Mark to the front door, there’s no way he’d let me leave the House. What if Felix got a paper cut? What if Dan got his rumored humungous dick caught in Phil’s ass (oh he thinks we don’t know)? What if Logan pissed someone off – which could happen at any moment on any day? I have to be here to fix everything.  
But I smirk to myself after escorting Mark out, because I feel a vibration against my leg and pull out my silenced phone to see an animated gif of a cute cartoon cat blowing a kiss at me – and then licking the screen. Damn Magnus.

Phil  
I’m not the most handsome guy, I know. But at least I can admit that I’m some people’s type. Some people like nerdy, or quirky, or whatever else they can think of to describe me. “Cute” is one I get a lot, especially from those who know me.  
Dan, though, he’s one of the first guys who have outright said he finds me… well, “hot,” “attractive,” and “sexy.” That isn’t the reason I return the feelings, but it’s a big step up from “cute” or “nerdy.” He’ll call me those other things, but when we’re fooling around, the highest of praises have come spilling out of his mouth, and not just for my sexual prowess – which I honestly didn’t know I had until I met him.  
My teeth are crooked, my hair can be a mess, I’m probably too thin. But he’ll come up behind me, hug me, kiss my neck and call me sexy. It’s a great confidence booster. And with him being the one to say it…  
He’d never admit it because he’s so self-sabotaging, and his family life left him with little to be proud of emotionally. But I like to think I’m helping to restore some of the self-confidence his evil father stole away from him. Anyway, the guy is, like, gorgeous to me. And to many others he can’t or won’t identify. He says he’s just ordinary, with the brown wavy hair and brown eyes, as opposed to my own black hair and pale blue eyes. But his face is just nothing near plain. His eyes are large and round, his mouth full and expressive, his cheekbones higher and sharper than he realizes. And at six-foot-three, he’s still slim and not all muscular, which I find to be an incredible turn-off. I’m only an inch shorter than him, but sometimes he just seems so much taller. Maybe I’m biased because of these last two-plus-years, but I personally think he’s one of the hottest, most adorable guys, not just in this house, but on the entire campus. I told him this once and he just scoffed wordlessly in disbelief, but when I insisted, using the excuse that it was how I thought, he backed off on calling himself derogatory names and accepted the compliment, however dubiously.  
And he’s one of the sweetest people, as well. He would never allow me to say that to anyone, but it’s true – for all he teases and taunts me for, he makes up for it by being incredibly kind and protective. He would do anything for the people he loves, and that circle of friends has been growing ever so slightly since he came to Baines. The two of us have particularly taken little Troye under our wings, because if any trouble is going to visit any of us, it’s most likely going to be that poor wee guy. It’s just instinct. Besides, he’s a sweetheart too, and he obviously looks up to both of us – aside from the height thing, I mean. He seems to admire us both, in a way. We’re all just housemates, really, but being a little brother myself, I know what it looks and feels like to look up to someone older and perhaps a bit wiser. So we make sure to take care of him. Especially when he insists he doesn’t need it.  
The thing is, I’m lying here on Dan’s chest, having fully sated myself on him after making him hard again following the blowjob, and he’s fallen asleep, and though I’m comfortable as fuck, I just can’t stop looking at him in the dim light of one of our lamps. And I just can’t comprehend why and how he thinks so lowly of himself, when I think the world of him. I don’t have that bad a judge of character. And I know you can’t really change a person if they don’t want to be changed. I just wish he’d be a bit nicer to himself, is all. Because I know that, even if he has trouble loving himself, I could do it twice over for both of us. He’s sometimes uncertain if I even like him, so a lot of times, “I love you” just comes spilling out of my mouth while we’re having sex. Maybe he doesn’t trust it because of the situation, but it’s a little harder to utter it during the day.  
But I do it. Now and then I still manage to do it. He gives me a queer look when I say it, like he thinks I’m crazy. But then, by some miracle, his eyes will go soft and he’ll say it back, and give me a quick kiss. Like we’re a real couple. And that’s when I’m happiest.  
So even if he’s asleep right now, I find myself pushing up toward his face, placing a soft, long kiss on his cheek, and when I pull back, I whisper, “Love you.”  
And it would be so flipping romantic. If only there wasn’t a loud rapping at the door. I yelp, and Dan sits up sharply, not quite awake but mumbling, “’M up, what?”  
The door opens and Alec sticks his head inside.  
I yelp again and pull the sheet up over my chest.  
“Oh please, I ain’t interested,” he smirks. “Look, Traci’s pals are staying with him at his house tonight, but they’ll probably all be here tomorrow to hang out before dinner. You’re promising to stay away from the kitchen, right, you two?”  
I sigh and roll my eyes. “We promise.”  
“I’ll call you down when it’s time for dinner. Just…stay up here where you’re safe. Away from the oven.”  
“I’m up,” Dan repeats, looking around blankly. “What?”  
Alec waves at me. “Remind him of his role when he’s more coherent, huh?”  
“Yessir,” I answer, nodding seriously.  
“Thanks. We let you guys experiment for fun now and then, but the pros are gonna handle this one, and we want a real kitchen in full working condition when it’s done.”  
“Got it,” I insist, rather testily.  
Alec smiles and waves again, shutting the door behind him when he leaves.  
Dan turns to me, his eyes bleary and only half-open. “What about the kitchen?”  
I smile sweetly at him. He’s too cute sometimes. I kiss him on the mouth for a few seconds, and pull away still smiling. “Don’t worry about it, darling. Go back to sleep.”

Logan  
Let’s get one thing straight in the beginning: I am not a faggot. I got no problem with guys who are, but I ain’t one myself. I’m saying that now because I got this problem and it might sound a little fruity, but it just isn’t. I fuck loads of girls, all the time. I got no problem doing that.  
But then this little shit came along and fucked up my entire head! It started out as just some weird curiosity, and now, it’s turned into this whole full-fledged…  
Well, whatever. I am not gay.  
See, I’m twenty-two years old. I like women, who are of age, who like to party and drink and fuck. I ain’t into dudes, I ain’t into experimenting, and I sure as hell ain’t into my fucking roommate.  
Problem is, I think I just get too excitable, and if I don’t get my fill of pussy for the day, my mind starts to wander at night. To weird shit.  
I’m actually supposed to be a year ahead of people like Dan, Phil, and Felix. But just because I made a mistake in my second year, my studies were pushed back for a year, and I’m just now in my third year. I still think the cops and the chick herself were just fucked up, and really they all know I’m right because all I got was a few months in jail (unearned) and the rest of the time on community service. But all charges were cleared when that community service was finished, and considering my family was able to bail me out of that (and loads of other sticky situations) and I didn’t have to register on any list, I think the court knew who was telling the truth.  
Besides, it’s not like I was even into the chick. She’d been this tiny blond thing with short hair and a short dress. She’d just been teasing me. So when I go to take her up on her unspoken offer, I get blamed? What kind of justice is that?  
Anyway, all my real friends know me, and they know what I do and what I like, and they knew I wouldn’t have gone after her on my own.  
So then I show up here for my third year of classes, still getting accepted into the House because of my awesome movies, however risqué they may seem, and who do they stick me with? Some tiny, blond-haired freak in his sophomore year! I don’t got time to take care of other people’s shit! I told Alec to switch me as soon as I got a look at the kid, but he wouldn’t budge.  
“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to,” he told me, “because I really don’t think you guys are a good fit, but we really just don’t have the room, and after that fight you and Felix got into last year, I’m not sticking him with you either. Look at it as a fresh start with an innocuous boy – who, of course, you don’t like because you don’t do that,” he’d added with a roll of his eyes. “Believe me, Logan, we get it – you’re not gay. I think you’ve said it with every breath since you’ve been here.”  
“Well, I’m not!”  
“Good for you. Now move your fucking shit upstairs.”  
The first few days were rough, because I’d obviously clocked him for what he was, and I made it perfectly clear I didn’t want that in my room. He’d tried to reason, “Well, it’s half my room as well, so maybe on nights you aren’t here—“  
“No!” I shouted. “Not even then! There won’t be any queer action going on in here!”  
That made him blink a bunch of times, and then he admitted, “It’s okay. I don’t even have anyone in mind.”  
“Good,” I nodded. “And you can take any smelly stuff into the bathroom with you too.”  
He chuckled, looking up at me from where he sat on his bed like I was crazy. “Smelly stuff?”  
“Yeah! You know – perfumes, nail polish, that kinda shit – you can just keep that out of my room too.”  
He smiled oddly at me, his eyes going crossed for just a second, as if I’d imagined it, and then he straightened up and held up a hand. “I swear I won’t open any smelly stuff in your room.”  
I’d hesitated, thinking he was being just a bit too agreeable to this. But best not to question it. I’d nodded back and decided it was safe to turn my back on him then to finish unpacking my clothes.  
A week went by without incident – but that was just it. There was nothing going on. So I complained to him that I couldn’t get laid if he was always there. He said to just tell him to leave, but I didn’t want to have to be the one to say it. He should’ve left the room occupancy up to me. Really I just didn’t want to look at him while I was aroused. I didn’t know why, I just felt uncomfortable doing it.  
“Don’t worry,” he assured me in his…what?...fake British accent, “my lessons at Swope Hall are starting next week, I’ll barely ever be here between that and my part-time job.”  
Which sounded promising. Except that after a couple of weeks, he started showing up at the house again – this time with a friend. I would threaten him to not come near the room because I’d have a date, and he’d assure me they weren’t staying, or they were hanging out in another room.  
Relief began to course through me in that time, because he wasn’t around. I didn’t have to see him or talk to him, I didn’t have to think about him.  
Not that I’d spent any time thinking about him! Just worrying about if he’d be there when I got home…  
Thankfully, by October, I’d fallen into a cute little coupling with Alinity, my old pal Tana’s friend. She was a hot little number who liked to flash curious men and then swat them away. Cruel trick, and we weren’t actually together, but she was nice to fuck. Nice, nothing special, but it did the job.  
Then it finally happened. I had no one to bring home, and he didn’t have anything to really keep him from being at home either. One week ago. I came into the room to find him fast asleep in his bed, a small pile of fancy-looking clothes draped carefully over a corner at the bottom. He didn’t even stir when I turned on the overhead light. Confused, I took a peek at him. He looked exhausted. Not bad, but just tired, some very faint circles under his eyes. But that’s not what caught my attention.  
His lips. His perfect, vaguely red, soft lips, just barely pursed in his sleep. They were like two small rose petals. And the second I noticed them, and looked closer at them, all the things I’d been shoving down for the last several weeks came flooding my mind…and I wanted to kiss him.  
As soon as the thought entered my mind, I slapped myself across the face. I’m not like that, I don’t do that! Never have and never will! There is nothing going on here that should be questioned, you just noticed he still has lipstick traces on his mouth from his modeling job. That was all it was.  
…And yet now, I’m knelt here a week later, after everyone has gone to sleep, awaiting the big dinner with Traci’s friends tomorrow, and I’m doing what I’ve done for most of the last seven nights: waited for him to fall asleep so I can get good angles for my own private photoshoot. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping.  
Maybe one of these nights I’ll gather the courage to see just how soft his lips are.  
Purely for curiosity’s sake, of course. Because I don’t do that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traci’s friends make a new discovery; Phil has an insatiable urge; Logan starts going too far.

Damon  
Despite Traci’s impressive and quaint little house he had built on the property just for himself a few years ago, the highlight of Saturday night was still the chair through the window. After that fiasco, poor Trace needed a decent night’s sleep, so the rest of us obliged him and turned in early. He only has one guest room, with two single beds, so Lizzie and I squeezed onto one while Brian and Ewan took the other, and the former Trio of Terror took to the living room to enjoy a comfortable couch, a working fireplace, and a twin set of matching sleeping bags with ample pillows. Armand, obviously, won the rock-paper-scissors battle for the couch.  
For all we knew, however, the three of them could have been getting up to some floor-based nooky, while the other four of us stayed up until close to two in the morning having hushed conversations about our own lives, our plans for the future – and that hella hot guy who had come out to reassure Traci he would take care of the mess with the chair.  
Morning was rather uneventful, albeit peaceful. We all had coffees and nibbled on a light breakfast, since there was going to be a rather large meal in the afternoon. We stood and sat around Traci’s kitchen table after making ourselves decent, chatting aimlessly like we usually did. I gave thanks internally for today’s technology, because seeing all of them again after so many years of living in Australia would have been a bit of a strain, even on our oldest and dearest friends. But having kept in touch with them since we all went our separate ways physically, conversation and reconnection was much easier.  
By the time two o’clock rolls around, most of our tummies are growling and Traci suggests we head up to the other house to maybe meet some of the students and reflect on our pasts around that same old heap of a dining room table that hasn’t moved an inch since Traci helped move it in when the House was officially started. The walk up there is so refreshing and invigorating in the late October afternoon air that I start to feel giddy and have to throw my arms around my boyfriend’s shoulders from behind, making him giggle and pat my hands. It feels good to be back, really, and I tell him so. His soft smile and nod are all I need to know he genuinely agrees with me.  
In the kitchen, still as small as it ever felt, we meet Becky, Louise, Cat, and PJ, who are all hard at work to get our early dinner together. They’re all lovely young people who greet us cordially and say hello to their “headmaster” of sorts, in kind and friendly ways as to suggest that Traci hasn’t let the fact that he’s no longer directly in charge of the House students get in the way of being close to them. It does figure, though; he was there when the House was first conceived, and he hasn’t been able to give up at least a small grip on it after all these decades. Despite his career as a professor, he truly does love this place and the idea behind it like it’s his own child.  
He leads us all into the dining room, and not a thing has changed. Maybe a few decorations and pictures, but otherwise, all the furniture, the lighting, the unusable fireplace – it’s all the same. I’m willing to bet that chair that got tossed yesterday was one I’d sat in myself, to be honest.  
We take our random seats at the table, the trio sitting on one side and the other four of us on the other, with Traci, as would be appropriate, at the head. He doesn’t mean to take control like this, he chuckles, “But it just comes as second nature by now. Even when my RA is running a meeting.”  
“So Traci,” Jarvis says from across the table, “I hear you’ve got a promising young film director in the house. Anything I can do to help out?”  
“Oh, Marzia? Jarv, no offense, but I’m not letting that poor girl anywhere near you…”  
“No, no, I heard it was a male. But, um, if I can help this Marzia girl out, you have my number.”  
Traci rolls his eyes – I’m not sure if it’s because of Jarvis or what he says next, but he seems exasperated by both. “Oh, you mean Logan. Yeah, um, I wouldn’t really waste my time on him, personally,” he answers, lowering his voice.  
“No?”  
“No,” he assures him flatly. “Logan is…” He sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. “He’s what I like to call a fluke. See, the director of the House doesn’t choose the students anymore.”  
“You don’t?” Lizzie starts, blinking at him. “But…well, who decides if not the guy in charge?”  
“There’s a committee now. The dean set it up specifically for this reason, though they’re really just deans from other fields and administration. I can have a say in it, but overall, it’s the committee who decides, and sometimes they can have really stupid reasoning behind their decisions.” He sucks in a sharp breath and says in a strained voice, “Like how much money the family is willing to shell out…”  
“Ooooh,” Toby cuts in, his eyes narrowed. “What the fuck’s up with that? Henderson would never stand for that sort of thing!”  
“No, no, no,” Traci assures us. “He retired four years ago, and the new guy who came in made some changes. No, Henderson could be a nuisance, but he wasn’t a dick. So yeah, I tried to bring up some, uh, unflattering points about this student, but the committee decided it would be `in our best interest’ to let him in. I still don’t see much of his work to be that interesting or unique. In fact, some of it’s downright pornographic in some parts…”  
Jarvis perked up. “Oh, my specialty!”  
“No, Jarvis,” Traci chuckles wearily. “Even you always had some amount of taste to your films, or a point behind it. This kid is just…I don’t know. I think he’s obsessed with sex. But that’s just my opinion, an opinion the committee doesn’t share.”  
“Because they’re holding shares,” Armand mutters.  
“Pretty much. That’s what Baines has become sometimes, unfortunately. I’ve thought about leaving several times since the new dean came on board, but…I just couldn’t. I look at the rest of the kids in the House, and I look at my RA, and I know they’re great. I don’t think I could leave that behind because one or two students don’t meet my approval.”  
“Aw, Trace,” Brian smiles, reaching over to nudge his elbow, as he’s right next to him. “You’re such a sucker.”  
“Naw,” I put in. “I think he’s a classy guy. You speakin’ up like that when you really didn’t want the kid here – that takes guts. And I know you did it with all the grace a seasoned teacher should have.”  
Traci smothers a smile and shrugs. “I try anyway. I didn’t want it to be a witch hunt, but I really get bad vibes about him.” He clears his throat and turns back to Jarvis. “Now, Marzia – I joke, because she’s really beautiful and Italian to boot, but her work so far has impressed me. I’d be happy to put her in contact with you if you have tips.”  
“Certainly. And I’ll keep my porn films hidden from her.”  
“Gee, thank you.”  
Just as he says that, there are footsteps from the staircase, and in walks probably one of the only people I’ve seen who comes close to Traci’s ridiculous height. He’s long and lanky, with a mop of unruly brown loose curls, and a cheeky smile sneaking up the side of his rather attractive face to reveal a very obvious – and adorable – dimple. Without a word, he walks to the wall where some folding chairs are stacked, picks one up in an oversized hand, and sets it at the table, right next to Traci. Then he takes a seat and peers at the House director, a sly look in his dark eyes.  
Traci glances over at him and coughs, shaking his head. “Would you quit doing that to me?!”  
The boy shrugs helplessly. “Sor-ry, I’m just light on my feet,” he says in what I pinpoint as a rather strong Reading, English, accent.  
“How?” I blurt out without thinking, and instantly draw attention from the boy.  
“When you’re like this for at least eight years, you become accustomed to it,” he explains in a deadpan tone. He turns back to Traci. “I have a bit of a problem. We have a bit of a problem.”  
“The only problem is you’re not supposed to be near the kitchen right now.”  
A careless hand waves that off. “Oh, whatever, I’m not going in the kitchen. No, this is something worse.”  
Traci watches him carefully. “Y-y-ye-e-e-s-s-s?”  
The kid reaches into his pocket, pulls out a dark piece of paper, unfolds it to halfway, and slaps it in front of Traci.  
There’s another small sigh. “What’s this?”  
“It’s Phil.” He lifts his head to us and waves quickly in a circle. “I’m Dan, by the way.” Without waiting for a response from anyone, he rushes on, “I just got this from him a few minutes ago.”  
Traci groans and opens the folded paper. “Oh great…Bernadette?”  
“Yup.”  
“How long ago?”  
“About two hours. He’s been making up funeral invitations ever since. Sniffling his pretty eyes out.”  
Traci snaps his head around to give him a warning look, even lifting a pointed finger to him. “Don’t…you…start…”  
“What? The boy’s got pretty eyes, I can’t help that!” Dan’s voice jumps about an octave with that, then drops back just as suddenly to add, “So what do we do? Ignore it? Have the funeral? Want me to convince him to put it off another day? I can be very convincing with him—“  
“Daniel…”  
“Okay, I’ll try, but I’m not sure he’ll agree,” Dan sighs, shoving himself out of the chair and loping back toward the staircase before pausing to turn back to us. “Oh, uh, very nice to meet you all.”  
But just as he’s turning back to leave, someone else appears behind him. A shorter young man, with short blondish hair and a very confused look on his face. When he speaks, he has the faint, lilting accent of what I know is from Sweden. “Uh, is this casual or fancy dress?” he asks Dan, holding another black paper in his own hands.  
Dan scoffs. “Wear a fuckin’ bathing suit, Felix, I don’t know!” And he bounds up the stairs away from all of us.  
The Swedish kid continues down to the ground floor, still puzzling over this supposed invitation, and as soon as Brian asks Traci what’s going on, the poor thing snaps his head up and jumps back, just now realizing, apparently, that he’s not alone in the room. I hear him cursing softly in Swedish, then an embarrassed chuckle.  
“Oh, um, wow. Hi, all of you,” he says uncertainly. “Uh…Traci?”  
“Yes, Felix,” our friend says in an exaggerated tone of patience.  
“Are these the doctors you’re always threatening me with?”  
“No. They’re my old friends from college. Remember? You’re having dinner with us in a little while.”  
“Ohh…” He laughs airily and starts back up to the staircase again. “Okay. I get it. Well, it was lovely to see all of you, and, uh…I’ll see you again…later…” And he turns and bolts back up the staircase, yelling loudly, “Daniel, you cunt! Don’t just leave me there!”  
Traci pulls his familiar face-in-palms maneuver as we all snicker around him.  
“That would be Felix,” he explains. “Believe it or not, he’s actually a very talented game designer.”  
I blink in surprise, and Toby and I exchange impressed glances. “Very cool.”  
“Yeah. He’s also a fucking lunatic, you ask me…”  
This time there’s a slow plodding down the stairs, and Traci goes silent, watching them with an almost wary expression.  
The person who comes down, however, is hardly intimidating. Well, he’s almost as tall as that Daniel kid, but otherwise, he looks absolutely woeful instead of alarming. Traci seems to think this as well, since he sighs with relief and reaches out an arm.  
“Phil!”  
The boy with the sad face lifts his head, and even I am taken aback. It simply isn’t possible, that much is obvious, but with the black hair and disturbingly pale blue eyes, not to mention the height and gangly limbs, he almost looks…  
I chuckle to myself, causing Lizzie to turn to me and smack my arm.  
“Come here, Phil,” Traci urges, patting the seat Dan vacated not long ago. “Let’s have a talk.” He turns to the rest of us. “Everyone, this is Phil. Phil, these are my old housemates from, like, before you were born.”  
He hesitates, looking a bit frightened, but then hazards, “Does that mean they knew my mums?” And I swear I detect at least a bit of a Northern England accent.  
Traci nods. “That’s right. At least, I think they knew them. Guys? You knew Ellie and Blue, right?”  
We all start nodding and murmuring our agreement.  
“Well, this is their son, Phil.”  
We offer our greetings and he waves shyly before taking the seat beside Traci.  
“So I just talked to Dan,” Traci begins. “He said Bernadette died. Is that true?”  
Phil attempts a small smile but falters and fails halfway through. “Yes. I found her this morning.”  
Traci gives him a sympathetic look, patting his shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. You know you tried your hardest—“  
“Uh, excuse me?” Brian cuts in. “I’m sorry to be forward, but this sounds rather important. If there’s been a death, are you sure we should even be here?”  
Traci holds up a hand, assuring us, “Oh, it’s all right, isn’t it, Phil? You’d rather be around other people right now, wouldn’t you? Get your mind off of it.”  
Phil glances over at Brian and informs him gloomily, “Bernadette was my seamonkey. She didn’t seem very well the past week, but today she finally…” He breaks off, looking away sadly.  
“How could you tell?” Toby asks incredulously.  
Traci gives him a warning glare, reaching over to pat Phil on the shoulder again.  
“No, really!” Toby insists. “I had seamonkeys several years ago too. I couldn’t even tell they were alive!”  
“Toby!”  
Ooh, that was a double-whammy from Armand and Jarvis on both sides.  
“No, it’s okay,” Phil insists. “It’s just that she looked a bit pinkish. Like, she was raw or something.”  
Toby holds his hands out in utter astonishment. “They are pink! Ow!”  
Double-whammy arm punches. Damn, Toby never did get it easy between the two of them.  
But Toby’s abuse and Phil’s bereavement take a backseat to the sudden about-face that Armand suddenly makes. And Armand – he rarely loses his shit. Now, however, he spins to face Traci and, without thinking about who’s in the room or what the situation is, he blurts out in a shocked tone, “Holy shit! He’s your son!”

Dan  
I stare down hard at the book in front of me, my left hand poised and ready over the half-empty page in my notebook. I read through the confusing paragraph a third time and shake my head, not just to try and clear it, but to express my frustration.  
“What?” I whisper into the textbook quietly, and give the read another attempt. “What?” I cry out loud, and chuck my pen across the room behind me. “It makes no sense!”  
I hear the pen clatter to the floor beside Phil’s desk, and turn to try and spot where it ended up. Instead, I get distracted by Phil himself, who is also sat hunched over his own work, but he’s staring up into space.  
“Oi, toss my pen back?” I ask in exasperation.  
But the twit doesn’t even seem to hear me. His head tilts to the side, and I hear him utter, “I can’t believe he didn’t tell them.”  
“Wot?” I turn in my seat and lean forward, gesturing with my hand. “Phil, pen?”  
“Why wouldn’t he just tell them?” he asks the air.  
I’m obviously not getting through to him. “Phil!”  
He snaps his head around, sitting up straighter, to stare at me blankly.  
I point to the pen on the floor. “Can you toss me my pen, please?” I ask in an exaggerated polite tone.  
He glances down at the pen, then back up at me. But he doesn’t move a muscle to retrieve it.  
“Please,” I repeat.  
But then I notice he’s still staring straight at me. Like he’s got some purpose in his head for having my attention.  
I sigh heavily and realize I’m not getting my pen back until I do something about it myself. Bloody hell.  
I stand and shuffle across the room, leaning over to grab the stupid pen.  
“Dan,” he says, his voice slightly husky, “why wouldn’t he tell them about me?”  
As I straighten up, I can only shrug. “Maybe your mothers didn’t want him to spread anything around. Maybe he didn’t want the hassle of them chiding him. I don’t think they would’ve – I mean, they didn’t, did they? But maybe he thought they would. I don’t know, Phil. Families have always fucked with my head. Especially fathers. They can be right sons of bitches.”  
And just my own mention of the dreaded “f” word causes another sigh to escape and my stomach to drop a little.  
“Anyway…”  
But as I start back to my desk, I hear a rustle behind me, and before I know it, two lanky arms covered in sweatshirt are stopping me in my place in the middle of the room, hugging me fiercely.  
“Phil?” I ask after an awkward pause.  
“I can be your family,” he blurts out, and I struggle to turn around while still in his grip.  
“What’re you talking about—“  
He turns me the rest of the way around and grips my arms firmly. His eyes, peering dangerously deep into mine, are wide and sincere. “I am your family,” he corrects steadily. “You know that.”  
I blink at him. It’s a rather abrupt and endearing sentiment. But I still find myself sputtering to find something to say.  
Luckily, I don’t have to. He grabs the pen out of my hand and chucks it away, yanking me to him for an unexpected but deeply felt kiss. After a few moments, I let my eyes drift shut and the sensation of his tongue in my mouth overtake me instead. It’s a sweet, almost nostalgic feeling, and I don’t mind ignoring the niggling thought in my head that we both have work to do. This definitely beats re-reading that bloody section for the fifth time.  
As he’s full-on snogging me, he gradually pushes me back until my legs hit the edge of his bed. I try to steady myself at first, but he keeps pushing, and suddenly the kiss is as broken as my balance, and I tumble back into the unmade sheets. I try to sit up, to at least get my bearings, but he’s suddenly on me again, straddling my waist as he smashes his lips into mine once more. I make an attempt to right myself on the bed, but he doesn’t care if I’m diagonal or not. I giggle slightly into his mouth, try to say something about him being on crack, but he’s not listening. He pushes my head back with the force of the kiss, only vaguely connecting with the pillow, his hands bunching up my jumper and pulling it clear out of my jeans. I try to help as he struggles to yank the thing over my head, but he’s all go at the moment and barely avoids choking me to get it off.  
Finally free of the overwarm article of clothing, I take advantage of his turning away to dispose of it, to try and sit up a bit. But he’s too fast for me, and I giggle again at the brush of fingers over my bare chest as he insists on pressing me down again. With all this commotion about us, I haven’t really thought much about how aroused I really am, but when he grips my shoulders and slides his hips down over my crotch, I can feel how hard I really am and my amused chuckling dissipates into heavy, heated breathing instead. He removes his own shirt as well, but when I try to push myself up to at least leave a few pecks over his collar bone, he startles me by slipping a persistent leg between my thighs. He catches my head in one hand and holds me close for a kiss, but won’t let me get up any further. His free hand busies itself with undoing my jeans, squirming over them to shove them off as well. So I’m left there practically sideways on the bed, in just my boxers, and him looming over me, not letting me move without his consent.  
This all sounds quite demanding and perhaps dangerous, and for anyone else, I would say it would be. But for the two of us, this is normal. Two giants vying for dominance on a squeaky old boxspring and mattress, this is just the way we do it. And to be honest, people comment that we’re both huge, though lanky, but Phil has beaten me in plenty a fun physical confrontation in the past. Especially in the water. I seem to lose all my coordination in the water.  
Aside from that, this is how I know Phil is being serious. Usually he’ll just go along with my desires, my wants. When he has a flash of superiority, however, he can still get a leg up on me.  
And speaking of legs, right after slinking out of his own clothes, he turns back to me and practically rips my boxers off before pouncing again, even going so far as to grabbing my wrists when I reach for him and pinning me to the mattress while he smothers me with a hungry kiss.  
The kid’s hot and bothered by something, and though I know it’s not entirely me, I let go and let him take control.  
I briefly wonder if he’s going to jump on my hardening cock like he did the night before, just after I’d recovered from the euphoric blowjob he’d given me. But Phil has something else in mind, I realize when I see the glint in his pale blue eyes.  
I swallow hard when he spreads my legs again, kneeling between them and covering my body with his own. I can feel his erection pressing against my belly, sliding further down as he draws in deep breaths. Without my having to ask, he reaches one of his long arms toward the nightstand and pulls out what he needs.  
It’s not that I don’t like getting fucked. We’d switched pretty regularly last year. And the year before. But I suppose this new schoolyear has mainly been about me sating my urges, and him taking the brunt of it. I suppose spending an entire summer with my family back in England can stress me out, to the point where, upon returning, I looked at Phil and just saw MEAT. He took it in stride, obviously really enjoyed it too.  
But tonight is different. Tonight he needs something more than just my hand or mouth on him. He wants total contact, and really, that’s one of the few things I’m willing to just hand him.  
Oh hell. That isn’t true. I’d give him my organs if he needed them.  
So I watch in silence, actually getting even more turned on, as he rolls the condom on and lubes himself up. He puts some on his fingers and positions me carefully, my long legs bent around him, quivering ever so slightly. I only wince a little when he spreads the lukewarm liquid over me, and before I can register what’s happening, he’s sliding into me with the persistence and ease of a fucking porn star. I give a start, clenching slightly, but I grab the sheets around me to keep from pulling away automatically. He needs this right now, I remind myself. He needs me. So I let him take me.  
I gulp again as he leans forward, looming over me and gripping my shoulders to gain leverage as he starts thrusting, his usually cute face now contorted in a mixture of desperation and pleasure. I vaguely start to remember what it’s like to be on this side, and hesitantly roll my hips into him. He groans his obvious approval and delves in deeper, hitting my g-spot dead-on, so I end up throwing my head back and making an almost girlish cry before I can stop myself. But he seems to like it, because he continues rocking right there, and every time he draws another potentially embarrassing noise from my throat. I have to close my eyes and try to bite my lip to keep from sounding so…submissive, but to no avail. He’s just really fucking good with his cock, and I practically start blubbering over it. He thankfully leans over then to kiss me, whispering some of the most obscene things to ever come from his mouth between snogs. I would have no trouble repeating them if it were me, but as they come from him, it just seems wrong…yet so fucking hot at the same time.  
He knows how to get me, I’ll say that. He knows I like the dirty talk when I’m bottom, and it makes my belly tingle and my cock ache and my breath speed up and my head spin. Then he leans lower and starts licking the side of my throat – which he knows is sensitive even when not in a sexual scenario – and I just reach up and grab him, one arm around his neck, the other gripping one of his arms, and I’m full-on crashing into him with every thrust, whimpering like a bitch and gasping his name. My eyes are closed tightly, head tilted back as far as it will go, and within moments, I’m crying out loudly as my orgasm overtakes me, with only minimal friction against my cock.  
Sometimes it’s the other things that do it for me. All the small details that build up to a maddening crescendo. And then I’m gone, forgetting what I’m doing or saying, or even what fucking planet I’m on.  
And by the time my gasps start to abate and my head clears, he’s already come inside me, pulling out carefully with a strained grunt. And we’re left naked on the bed, lying in a tangle of entwined arms and legs, panting with the effort we’ve just spent, but content…almost peaceful.  
His head on my chest, Phil’s breath reaches across my collar bone to my shoulder, and he’s quiet. Very quiet.  
I reach up with my right hand and stroke his hair. “I don’t know, babe,” I say softly. “I doubt it was malicious…but I don’t know who in their right mind would knowingly keep you a secret.” And I kiss the top of his head gently.  
I can feel him smile faintly. “Thank you.”  
Logan  
I wait until two in the morning to reach over and turn on the lamp on my nightstand. It offers a soft, dim glow that just reaches the other bed. I crawl out from my blankets and snatch up the dinosaur camera I was hiding under my bed. Just an experiment to see how this will turn out. I keep the flash off and cross the space between us in just a couple of steps, then carefully lower myself onto the mattress, so as not to wake him.  
I take a few night shots at different speeds. I try different angles and lean forward and backward as the mattress will let me. At one point I even dare to touch him lightly on the chest, causing him to shift slightly so I can get a different perspective. I use up a full roll of film and vow to take it to get developed the next day. Something solid to have and hold, not just all this digital stuff.  
Then I pause to look down at him without the aid of a lens. I watch his eyelids twitch while he dreams. I lean forward, only inches from his face, and breathe in deeply. The smell of freshly washed hair from his shower earlier. I look down at him. Same effeminate face, same red lips.  
Something in my stomach clenches, and I pull back. I force myself to stand upright slowly, still holding my camera. With my free hand, I ball up my fingers and shove a bent thumb into my mouth, biting down hard. Trying to will away the twinge in my gut. It starts to abate when I focus my attention on my bed instead. But there’s something that won’t go away just yet that I have to take care of.  
I stow the camera back under the bed, crawling under the covers. I shut out the light and then slip my hand inside my boxers. I close my eyes and try to picture Alinity. What she looks like when we’re fucking. I switch to Tana after a while. Not much help. I go through several of the girls in the house, tugging harder with every one.  
But it isn’t until I’m in a hazy fog in my head, almost feeling like I’m gonna finish, when he’s there again. Invading my mind, blue eyes piercing through me. And I feel my heart beating faster, my breath catching. Without realizing it, I’m picturing him beneath me, head tilted back in ecstasy, moaning my name. And before I know it, I’m coming, all over my hand and inside my shorts. It was a hard, messy one too.  
Fucking bitch. Now I’ve gotta clean this shit up because of you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan threatens Traci to fix Phil; Logan doesn’t like being sexually confused by Troye; Dan and Phil try a new position.

Traci  
I suppose I didn’t realize how affected Phil was by the others finding out about my being his father until Monday morning, when Dan actually shows up at my door, still in pajamas, to tell me cheerfully, “Congratulations, Doz, you fucked up. Majorly.”  
I have to rub my eyes in an attempt to really wake up, uttering cluelessly, “What? What’d I do?”  
“It’s what you didn’t do, moron,” he scoffs. “You’re here sleeping peacefully away, and my poor boyfriend is up on that hill, trying to hide the fact that he’s been crying from me, and seriously contemplating not going to any classes today – which is not like him at all. So I need you to man up – a phrase I rarely ever use because I think it’s outdated and gives meaning to the phrase `toxic masculinity’ – and suck up the fact that maybe you’re not such hot shit as a father after all.”  
I blink at him, startled at his blatant accusation. “I-I didn’t think he’d be that upset about it, I just didn’t tell my friends or many people because his mothers—“  
He holds a sassy hand up to my face and announces, “I don’t give a fuck, Traci. Phil is devastated, and you’re going to be the one to fix it. Or else.” And he drops his hand and turns to head back to the house.  
“I didn’t mean to—“  
“Don’t want to hear it, Doz,” he calls over his shoulder. “Fix. It. Or. Else.”  
I never really thought about the situation myself. But if what he’s saying is true, then I really do need to step in. Threatening boyfriend or not. The surprising thing is, I fucking believe him. I don’t question it, I don’t try him, I don’t even level a claim of badgering a professor at him. I simply nod my head to myself and decide to go up after classes.  
My guests, meanwhile, are all stumbling around, trying to wake up themselves. They’re probably all still reeling from the fact that, yes, I have a son, but I’m still reeling from their news: that all of them are relocating back to New York, not far from Baines, all merely coincidental in timing but having to do with their respective careers. So of course they’d team up and pounce on me to spread the news at once, since they’re all going to be a short drive away from each other and us within a matter of weeks.  
In a way, I suppose it’s a good thing that Phil’s biological parentage came out when it did, because no doubt they would find out sooner or later with being so close. But I’m also slightly relieved and excited for my friends to be coming back “home,” so that I won’t feel so alone here. The kids are great, but these guys are my friends, my old mates. It’ll be great to be able to visit them now.  
But before any of that happens, I have to confront the worst thing in my life: a sad Phil. The thing is, he’s so unlike Blue and me, his bio parents, so charming and cute and, well, happy, that damaging that in any way makes my gut turn over. So to know he’s unhappy and I’m the one who caused it is just heartbreaking, and for as surly as Dan can be, I’m glad he came to me.  
So I wait until after five o’clock, after saying goodbye to my friends, who all have hotel rooms in the city, and then I march my sorry ass up to the house to explain myself.  
I let myself inside, but I run into Alec and ask him to go fetch Phil for me. It’s not forbidden, but I feel uncomfortable sauntering to the second floor these days. It just feels more like their territory, not mine anymore. Which is fine, how it should be. Yes, even with my own son.  
Almost as soon as I take a seat at the dining room table, Alec returns and heads straight back into his apartment. Phil plods along after him much more slowly, pausing at the bottom of the staircase when he sees me to nervously swipe some stray hairs away.  
“Hey, Philly,” I greet him, holding an open arm to him. “C’mere, sit on my lap.”  
He scrunches his nose. “I’m not twelve anymore, Dad.”  
I drop my arm and shrug helplessly. “Okay, then…” I gesture to the seat to my immediate left. “Have a seat. I gotta explain some stuff to you.”  
He obeys my suggestion but offers with an uncharacteristically morose tone, “You mean why you’re ashamed of me.”  
God, that stings. It literally pains me to hear him say that. “No, Philly, never! I’ve never been ashamed of you, ever.”  
He stares down at his hands on the tabletop. “So then…why didn’t any of your friends know about me?”  
“They knew about you,” I remind him. “They’ve always known that you’re Ellie and Blue’s son. And that is what your mothers wanted them to know. My part in that was inconsequential.”  
He sniffs, shaking his head. “Pretty big consequence, if you ask me.”  
I sigh leaning forward. “Okay, look. I didn’t want to go pointing fingers or anything, but I have to be honest here. Your mothers didn’t tell a whole lot of people about you – even our oldest friends – not because they or I are ashamed of you. It was always a matter of keeping you safe.”  
He peers sideways at me. “Safe? From what?”  
“From people.” I hold my hands up helplessly. “Unfortunately, we’ve known quite a few bad people over the years – including, as you know, my father, to name only one. He wasn’t the type of guy you tell your secrets to, whether they’re disturbing or absolutely beautiful secrets. He’s a violent, filthy man who would sell his own son out if it suited him. Besides that…well, Phil, you tell me – why were you able to pass up the scholarship you were offered when you came here?”  
He hesitates for a moment, then admits, “Because I knew I didn’t need it like someone else could.”  
“Maybe someone…like Dan?”  
He snaps his head around to me finally, his eyes wide. “Huh?”  
“I’m really not supposed to say,” I mumble, “but to be honest, yes. His ability to come to Baines relied solely on him getting a scholarship – namely, the one you gave up because you knew you could afford to come here without financial help.”  
He blinks at me several times, then tilts his head to the side. “So…if my mums weren’t so well-off…”  
“You may have never met him,” I conclude. “See, they were worried about you being around the wrong people, whether you were at school here or back at home. They didn’t want the fact that their wealth – thanks to their inventions and patents – is so enormous getting out to wreak havoc on your life. So they asked me to keep everything quiet. Yes, even to our old friends. Because those friends were scattered everywhere for the longest time. They didn’t need to be privy to that knowledge, for someone else to pick up on. Do you know how many times you could’ve been kidnapped?”  
Phil’s face tenses, a fearful look in his eyes. “Kidnapped? Tell me you’re joking!”  
I sigh and shake my head. “Look, the guy who raped Lizzie? He’s been out of jail for years. And Toby’s father? Well, honestly, I don’t know whatever happened to him, but he was some bad news too. We were just trying to keep you safe, Philly. Do you understand?”  
He glances around aimlessly for a while, then finally turns back to me. “Well…I don’t agree with it…but I guess…if that’s what you guys thought was best…”  
I clear my throat and admit, “Well, honestly, I thought they were going a little overboard, but you know your mothers – they’re both mother bears that’ll attack if anything threatens their cubs.”  
He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t I know it.”  
I give him a few more moments to let it sink in, then reach over and nudge his arm. “Hey. We okay?”  
He hesitates, a tiny smile forming on his face. “Y-Yeah…I think so.”  
“’Cause I’ve been a pretty good dad, right?” I push. “I mean, we may have lived an ocean apart for a long time, but I did what I could. Skype is a miracle, you and I proved that.”  
“Yeah,” he concedes, his smile growing a little, though he still looks shy about it. “And you did come visit as much as you could.”  
“I did. And when I heard you were coming here, to my school, and then that you would be living in the House – I was ecstatic, Philly!” I tell him honestly. “It was so nice to finally get you all to myself. Well,” I correct, rolling my eyes. “Almost all to myself…”  
He squints his eyes at me. “Who else—“  
“Oh, you mean the giant Reading kid who basically threatened my life today?”  
Phil slaps his forehead and groans. “Dan…”  
“No, no, don’t worry,” I assure him. “He’s not in any trouble, and he was right to come to me. This did need to be straightened out. If it’s upsetting to you, I want to know about it.”  
He grins again, this time unable to keep from it growing wider. “He’s, um…kind of protective of me I think.”  
“Oh, you think?” But I can only shake my head. “For real, though? I’m glad you have him. He’s a good guy, and he really watches out for you.”  
He bows his head bashfully and shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah…I guess he’s all right.”

Logan  
I’m lying comfortably out on my bed, on my stomach, a growing hard-on pressed into the mattress as I lean on my pillows and study the glossy pictures I took last night. Most of them turned out stunningly, if I do say so myself. It would’ve been better if my subject had been more awake, but then I guess he wouldn’t have been up for modeling for me. I don’t know why, it’s me, I’m known for being a good photographer. I could probably fix some of the things wrong about him.  
My hips hitch upward when I come across a rather flattering shot, and I bite my lip. It’s just the camera, I think. The camera makes anyone look good. At least when I’m behind it.  
I’m interrupted suddenly by the text signal from my phone. It’s Troye. We finally established last night that we should exchange numbers, purely for the sake of checking to see if we’re around. More specifically, for him to make sure I’m not busy in the room I want him out of. I’m about to text back that I’m here and it’s okay to come up, but instead, I wait a few moments, then text him that I’m out.  
My heart pounding for some inexplicable reason, I shove myself off the bed and look around myself quickly. I swear I had a good reason for doing this…  
My phone still in my hands, I duck inside my closet and close it to nearly shut. Then I turn my phone sideways and stick the lens out of the crack, turning the camera function on. Within moments, the door to the bedroom opens, and in walks the bitch (I used to call him the little shit, but now I know what he really is, I can address him properly), several garments draped over his arm and a backpack over the opposite shoulder. He closes the door and sets the clothing onto the bed, then puts his backpack on his desk. All done very slowly, it seems, and when I zoom in closer to his face, I can tell he looks pretty damn tired. That, and there’s still make-up on his face. Not a full slab of it, but more than just traces either.  
He slides his red jacket off, tucking it on the back of his deskchair, then hesitates. For several seconds, he actually makes me wonder and maybe even feel a slight bit concerned, or at least confused, as he just glances around aimlessly with a slightly panicked look on his face. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do first, or second, or at all. He reaches for his backpack, then stops; he picks up the clothes on his bed, then drops them; he kicks off his shoes, then turns completely around like he’s lost something. Finally, he closes his eyes, raking bony fingers through his pale hair, and seems to relax.  
He drops his hands, then, mutters, “Fuck it,” and starts taking his clothes off.  
And I hit “record” on the camera.  
He strips down to his boxers - practically skin and bone – and grabs a small box and a towel out of his dresser, and leaves the room.  
I hit “pause” and let out a deep breath. Well, that proves this method is possible, but I don’t know how long I can stand to be in here. So I step out of the closet – not a play on words – and instead make myself comfortable on the floor on the side of my bed closest to the wall, where he won’t see me. Catching my own mistake suddenly, I realize I’ve left the pictures out on display. In a moment of panic, I right my pillow and stuff them underneath, relieved he hasn’t come back yet.  
In fact, I’m practically asleep on the floor when he finally does return. Bit of a long shower, I guess. But once he’s back, I snap to attention and get my camera ready.  
Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately – all he does is toss his boxers in his laundry basket, set his alarm, and flop on his bed in just his towel. He stays like that, his face in his pillow, for a long time, then lets out a weary groan before forcing himself, it seems, to turn onto his back. He sits up a little for a moment, groans again, then seems to say Fuck it once more before falling backward and becoming silent.  
Well, damn. I’m glad I didn’t bother recording that lame shit. What the fuck? Kids today are so overworked, I guess.  
I almost want to feel sorry for him, but he’s the fucking musician at Baines, one of the hardest schools around. Not for me, really, because I’m good at what I do. He must struggle more. But in any case, the important thing for me is that he’s a quick and heavy sleeper. I’ve discovered this by being his roommate for the past eight weeks, even if several nights he’s spent elsewhere. I still know he tends to fall asleep pretty fast, and when he’s out, he’s out. And I know that from all the pictures I’ve taken of him over the last week. Which I find myself scrolling through as I wait for him to drop off.  
Not half an hour later, I lift myself up to find that, sure enough, he’s sound asleep, not even bothering to turn out the light or dress himself. So it’s only natural that I find this the best and right time to move.  
I leave my phone on my bed, pulling myself onto my bare feet, and carefully make my way over to his bed. I lean over slightly and wave a hand several feet above his face, making sure of what I already know. When there’s no sign of life, I very cautiously lower myself onto the mattress, taking note of how low his towel is riding. Low enough to show off his bony hips and concave stomach. I recall that he didn’t return with the box he’d taken in with him, and I wonder briefly what it had been. I could go to the bathroom and check around, but instead of needing to do that, when I lean back a bit, my hand brushes a bare leg and I notice how smooth it is. I blink at the thought, startled, but when I check more closely, there is no doubt that his legs are hairless. I never knew that about him, but really, it shouldn’t surprise me. He is queer, after all. He probably does other things I don’t want to know about.  
But I do take the time to run my fingertips over the soft, smooth skin. Keeping an eye on his face the whole time just in case he should wake up.  
All that happens is his hips shift slightly and he murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep.  
I dare to slide my hand higher than stopping just at his knees, running my fingers over the inside of one thigh. All the way up to the edge of the towel, which has been hiked up pretty far. His head tilts to the side and he makes a soft sound, but nothing else.  
I’ve been staring into his face this whole time, and I just now realize that the rest of the make-up he’d had on when he came home is gone. I leave his legs alone to concentrate on his upper half, planting my hands on either side of his head and leaning in close to breathe him in. He smells fresh and clean, but those goddamn lips are still dark pink, taunting me. His eyelashes are thick and dark, again even without the make-up, and I long to see his blue eyes peering at me through them.  
Wait. Long?  
No. I’m just curious what it would look like in a camera lens. That’s all. That’s—  
I gulp down hard and refrain from any punishment for that thought for now. I have to see, to know for myself…  
I bow my head low, my nose practically touching his, brushing ever so slightly against the hoop through his nose, my breath shaky as it flows over his cheek. But I’m so close now, so close I can taste him—  
No. Not that—  
I straighten up quickly, almost too fast, press my lips together hard before jamming a bent thumb into my mouth and biting down fiercely. I swear I taste blood – good, that’s what men are supposed to taste, blood, not…pretty young girly-boys.  
I inhale sharply, recalling how good it felt to run my hands over the soft skin of his legs, legs that are actually pretty long for his height. And I realize my dick is throbbing.  
I grit my teeth, slap my face a few times with both hands, and try to get control.  
This isn’t…who…I…am.  
“You fucking bitch,” I hiss at him. “Fucking…whore.”  
My blood is boiling by now, and it takes all I have to keep from wrapping my shaking hands around his skinny throat and throttling him. How dare he do this to me? How dare he act like some fucking temptress! Making all the fucking chicks I’ve ever fucked look like dogs. What an insult!  
I force myself to stay in control as I slowly push myself up off the bed. I need to get away from him. Spread out all wantonly before me – he’d better be glad, grateful, that I change my mind in a moment of rationality.  
Because I’m not a fucking faggot like him. I’m not like that.,.  
Before I can reach my full standing height, I’m ducking down again, hands gripping the pillow around his head, and I stop myself from crashing into him, instead just brushing my lips over his for only a few…long…seconds. And then I straighten up and, dignity intact, I march back to my bed and crawl under the covers.  
As I slip the pictures out from under the pillow, flipping through them with the eye of a true photographer, a man of film and meaning, I lick my lips. Yeah. He tasted good.

Phil  
Believe it or not, there was a period of time in our first year together where Dan and I were not entirely together. We didn’t refer to each other as “boyfriend,” we didn’t see each other every day even though we were roommates, hell, we didn’t even have sex for long stretches of time. It felt more like a “seeing each other” sort of thing, rather than a “boyfriend” situation. It had started out very intensely and we were very into each other. But other things – family lives, college hassles, being uncertain about the whole thing – just got in the way and kept us apart. We still count those months as our time “together,” but it was a bit of a rough patch in the beginning.  
But then I accidentally overheard a conversation on the phone with his father, and how violently it ended, and from then on, we became inseparable. We started spending more nights romantically than platonically. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I spent most of my time not buried in my studies, buried in him (physically and metaphorically) and his well-being. And I was happy to have been where I was.  
I suppose that’s why he’s so damn protective of me now, bless his secretly giant heart. If I’m not happy, he’s not happy, and he just manages to keep me so damn happy on a regular basis that he has to practically fake being grumpy at times just to keep a balance.  
But I suppose this is his way of keeping us level, as well as vowing to be as intimate as possible, as much as possible – something that was unspoken but understood between us. That when one of us felt those sexual vibes coming over us, we would express it. And it would be up to the other person on how far we took it. It just so happened that every single time since then, the other person was always game for it. It was just so healing as well, for both of us, even if one of us wasn’t suffering in some way.  
I don’t do the suffering bit very well, to be honest. Because I’m generally a very positive, optimistic person naturally. I guess that’s one thing that attracts him to me, to counteract his own mental demons of anger, resentment, guilt, whatever. He always seems much lighter and more confident after we’ve had sex. Like his orgasm is some kind of antiseptic to cleanse his mind. And if I can do that by being pleasured by the likes of him, I’m more than game for it.  
Tonight is different, however. He’s not the one in pain here. And really, neither am I anymore. Okay, so we both had issues earlier today, but we each resolved – in our own ways – those issues before coming to bed. Yet here he is, crawling into my bed with me with that alluring lusty look in his eyes, only half-dressed and tugging hopefully at my pajama pants. Before even the shirt? Christ, Dan, be a little more obvious!  
I think this goes beyond any kind of “sexual healing,” though, if you’ll pardon the expression. I think this…is just pure desire. Danny just want to get laid.  
He’s literally crawled under the covers with me, and come up through them to pop out over me, smiling devilishly.  
“Hi.”  
I giggle at him and return the sentiment as he starts tugging at my pants whilst looming over me. He leans in for a quick kiss on my lips, but he doesn’t lean away very far after. He just keeps looking at me. A quick tongue darts out to moisten his own lips, and he whispers to me, “Do you want to?”  
As if he needs to ask. I giggle lightly again and reach up to pull the covers down onto his back, easing them even further down to give him more leeway with his bare arms. He is by no stretch of the imagination “muscular,” but he’s still more fit than me, slim but not skinny. He’s got some muscle under there, and it’s holding him up over my straight form patiently.  
To answer him, I land my hands in his soft curly hair and pull him down for another kiss, this one deeper and lingering. He moans into my mouth and he shifts his weight slightly, until he’s kneeling over my waist, straddling me without touching me.  
Just as I think this is a pretty unusual pose, his hands reach under me, not trying to pull my shirt away, but he somehow manages to pull me upward, right out of my pants! I yelp quietly at his strength and the new positioning, but I have no qualms with it either. He urges me back against the wall – okay, he practically slams against it, if not for placing a hand behind my head to soften the potential blow. And he’s kissing me, fully and passionately, as he maneuvers us into a kneeling position with my legs spread over his own. His pants have come off too in the move, and I feel the hot, throbbing flesh of his erection pressing against my inner thigh. I inhale a shaky breath at this sensation, and wrap my arms around his neck to balance myself. His bare chest pins me to the wall as his hands encircle my waist, ignoring the fabric of my t-shirt. It’s like he doesn’t even register that that bit of clothing still remains. Who cares? One piece of unobtrusive clothing isn’t going to stop him.  
He breaks the kiss and bows his head, running a hot, wet tongue over the side of my neck, making me shiver.  
“You like that,” he whispers, more of a statement than a question, but I nod anyway. He closes his lips over a section of flesh and starts suckling, determined to give me a reminder of this for tomorrow. He even dares to nibble lightly with his teeth, which is also a new addition to his repertoire. And I can’t protest that it doesn’t feel damn good.  
He pulls back slightly, his head still lowered, and he actually asks, “Do you want me?”  
I blink at him, startled that he’d need to ask.  
At my hesitance, he lifts his half-lidded eyes, repeating in a whisper as he swivels his hips to rub his cock against my leg, pushing it closer to my own hardening erection, “Do you want me?”  
Our cocks brush against each other, and he slides against me, pushing my torso against the wall behind me and causing a wheezing gasp to erupt from my throat. “Yes,” I answer with as much of a voice as I can manage right now.  
He forces our groins together again, rubbing urgently. “You want me inside you?”  
I full-out moan at the blunt statement and nod, gasping again, “Yes…”  
His hands slide down to my ass and he gropes, squeezes me almost harshly, pulling my pelvis against his. “Want me to fuck you?”  
I swallow hard, my eyes rolling back in my head. “God, yes…”  
And somehow, he’s already brought with him all we need – must have snuck them out of the drawer whilst I wasn’t looking. He’s become an expert at this by now, can do it one-handed, with his non-dominant hand. He slides the condom on, and starts to squeeze out the lubricant, but I stop him. At his confused look, I hold out my own hand, and he blinks at me cautiously before obliging me and filling it. I take my time, relishing the look of pleasure on his face as I spread it over his cock, tugging and squeezing as I wish. But he isn’t too keen on letting me take all the glory with a mere handjob. He puts some more in his own hand reaches between my legs, directly for the other side. I bite my lip to keep from moaning as his talented fingers sweep over my ass and tease my entrance.  
He’s breathing heavily by now, but he doesn’t let that keep him from grabbing my hips, positioning me as he wants, and sliding ever so carefully inside. He’s not quite as meticulous or cautious as usual, but somehow it’s okay. Like he knows me so well now, he doesn’t even have to worry. This is actually very comforting – and comfortable. There’s almost no pain at all, just a thick, throbbing pressure that I know is coming from his cock.  
Without stopping, without even pausing for a chance to let me catch my breath, he eases deeper into me, thrusting his hips upward until he hits my prostate. I throw my head back, bumping it against the wall slightly, and draw in a sharp breath. He immediately begins thrusting into me, shoving himself upward as I’m plastered against the wall with my hands on his shoulders for support, and he guides my hips along with every push. Up against a wall. Never really considered this position before. But it’s always good to try new things…  
And holy fuck does it feel good…  
Soon I find myself crying out with his thrusts, unable to form coherent words, even when he asks me things directly.  
“You like that, baby? You feel me inside you?”  
Helpless nod of the head, jaw slack and eyes rolled back. I could be rabid for all I care – if this is what it feels like, make me sick!  
Then he releases one of my hips to reach for my erection between us, and within two minutes, I have to let go of one of his shoulders to slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the scream. He takes this as a good sign and thrusts harder, slamming into me fiercely. I feel tears building at the corners of my eyes, one even escapes and starts to make a trail down my face, but it’s not out of pain. Oh God no, not pain at all…  
My blood feels like it’s coursing through me too fast, and all his concentration is taken up with trying to pleasure me, and it’s working, goddamn if it isn’t working like a motherfucker, my hand practically stuffed in my mouth to keep from being too loud. But as he hits my prostate one last time, I drop my hand to grope for him, and a sound unlike I’ve ever let out before escapes me, perhaps far too loud even for him, as he quickly leans forward and smothers it with his own mouth. But the intensity of my orgasm is so….bloody….strong…  
I’m left a broken, shivering heap on his lap then, not even realizing that he’s pulling the used condom off and slumping over to catch his breath.  
“Oh wow,” he gasps.  
I nod in agreement, looking up at him through now damp locks of hair. “Wow is right… Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”  
He shrugs, mussing my hair up further. “This is the shit I think about during class. I got a lot of free time in my head. And what about you? Mister Cursey-Curse? When did your mouth get so foul?”  
“When you fucked my ass into oblivion,” I chuckle.  
He snickers at that. “Fair enough.”  
And just for good measure, I reach up and grab him by his also damp curls, pulling him down to me to smother him in a grateful and satisfied kiss. He’s smiling shyly when I pull away to catch more breaths.  
“Legendary, Daniel Howell,” I declare as I shake a finger at him. “You…are fucking… legendary.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troye and Jacob's friendship; Jacob has a surprise for Troye; telling the parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Troye Sivan - Bloom  
https://youtu.be/41PTANtZFW0

Troye  
I suppose people think it’s exotic that I was born in Johannesburg, but really I don’t have much of a memory of the place. I recall faint images now and then, but nothing tangible. It was like any large city: overpopulated, smelly, crime rate sky-rocketing. The latter being the reason for my parents’ decision to move to Australia when I was only two. So no, it wasn’t very exotic. I have friends from there, no one I met when I was two, but friends I made through the internet. And my nan still lives there so I would visit on occasion. But as for me having a South African accent or having true memories, it’s disappointing. My favorite is when people say, “But you’re not black!” As if you have to have a certain skin pigmentation in order to be “from” any place, including South Africa. People migrate, morons, to all sections of the world! Novel concept, I know. It’s like people saying “But you’re not from New York!” when they learn I’m Jewish. Gets me every time. I’m not from San Francisco either but I’m still gay as fuck! Luckily, none of these things are an issue with Jacob. Ever since we met late last year in the caf on campus – he said he recalled seeing me in there several times, when in fact I’d only ever been in there three times, but whatever, it’s flattering he should notice me at all – we were inseparable. I cleared up all of the above issues before he could make the mistake of saying them, which he thanked me for later, saying at least he hadn’t embarrassed himself with me. I didn’t go home for the North American summer months, instead opting to stay at the House and take some summer courses; he had the same idea, as his home is originally Los Angeles, and that would have been a bit of a haul as well. He’s three years ahead of me, doing post-graduate courses after graduation last year. (He invited me to his graduation after only knowing me for six weeks.) He wants to get an apartment off campus – to his folks, to continue his education but on his own terms; to me, he’s said, to give us a nice, private place where I don’t have to worry about creepy roommates.  
I do love living at the House, don’t get me wrong. But Logan doesn’t sit well with me, and unfortunately they can’t switch me with anyone because Dan and Phil have a longstanding order to room together, and PJ and Felix both have had bad run-ins with the douche so putting either of them with him would be begging for more fights. I asked at the beginning of the year why they couldn’t just get rid of the root problem, but Alec could only shake his head and say, “Not an option.” In a tone which suggested he hated saying it.  
But was I going to pass up the chance to be a House member? Fuck no! I’d put up with the slag, even if my skin crawled whenever he glanced in my general direction.  
Needless to say, I’m really hoping Jacob is able to get that apartment on his own soon. Not just so I can blatantly use him to get away from my skeevy roommate, but so he and I can spend more alone time together. Because we’ve just been friends so far – and that’s been for months, let me tell you. I’m hoping somewhere along the line he’ll start to see me as a bit more than just a good friend, but that remains to be seen. And I’d need quite a bit of luck to pull it off.  
I got the part-time modeling gig solely because of him. He was already a child model when he first came to New York, he just signed up with a different company when he got here. After we met, for some reason he insisted I should go for it too. So I went in blind and somehow started getting shoots. Right at the end of the school year. I spent my summer going to two seminar classes, and posing in the most make-up I’d ever worn for a camera. It was a bit liberating, actually – especially when that first paycheck came in and I realized…I could buy stuff! I’d had small jobs in Australia, but nothing that paid like this. Though it was, surprisingly, hard work. Being in make-up and wardrobe took forever, and then you had to be charming and stunning and interesting for the camera. I could handle it pretty well. During the summer.  
This year, though, with my classes at Swope (the main music hall on campus), the time is very limited and the work is extra hard. Doing music at Baines is like doing Law at Harvard. It’s just a specialty they pride themselves on. I don’t mind the hard work – but it’s exhausting. Add the hours at the modeling agency in there, and by the time I get home, all I want to do is take a hot shower and sleep. I’m only lucky I don’t have much “homework” besides practicing pieces on different instruments, many of which I can only play at Swope, so my hours upon hours in “classes” is really just practice.  
This would be insane enough on its own, but I have a dual major – Music Performance and Music Production. So half my day is taken up with one and the other half is taken up with classes about the other. My musician spirit absolutely adores being so immersed in it.  
But damn if it doesn’t wear me out!  
But I can handle it, because every now and then, Jacob shows up, or calls, or texts, or takes me to my job in his car so I don’t have to worry about public transit. It’s not like the hours we used to spend together, but he knew my situation since last year and was well aware of what would be coming up for me. I think he knew better than I did! But he was prepared for it. So our time together got cut shorter, though we often have similar hours at the agency, so we get to peek in on each other there.  
In a way, my nineteen-year-old hormones have been screaming at me to make a move on him already, it’s been months, why hasn’t anything happened yet? Do I plan on staying “best friends” for the rest of our lives?  
In another way, I’m relieved he hasn’t tried to push anything too soon. We took months to get to know each other, I mean, really get to know each other. Our backgrounds, our habits, our idiosyncrasies. So the other night, when he was dropping me off at the House after a long evening shoot at the agency, I was pleasantly surprised when he finally – and quite naturally – leaned in before I got out of the car and planted a sweet, chaste kiss on my lips before letting me go. I just about managed to play it cool in the moment, but as soon as I was inside the house, I simply melted to the floor in ecstasy, smiling like an idiot and staring into space. In front of four people – I don’t even remember who – sitting around the front end living room doing homework and enjoying the fire.  
He liked me! He really was into me! Nevermind all the times he’d carried a camera around on campus and used it to get candid shots of me for no real reason, just saying he was practicing; this was the real deal now! And if you could see this piece of work God created, surely you would feel the same giddiness as I did.  
I’d thought about gushing about it to my House friends, especially Dan and Phil – I really did want to. But between the front door and the bedrooms, I started feeling paranoid and uncertain again, not wanting to jump to conclusions, no matter what my gut and heart were telling me. So instead I kept it to myself, a nice little secret I could peek in on whenever I was starting to have a bad day. Something to keep me going. Something I could believe in and hope for. Something no one else could defile or muck up.  
But tonight, Jacob seems to have something more up his sleeve that I am not counting on. I can tell in the way he keeps stealing glances at me and then looking away when I catch him staring. I can tell in the small smile that plays about his sultry lips whenever I ask him if he’s all right. He assures me he’s fine and not to worry.  
After work, he comes to my make-up chair to wait for me. I’ve been lucky enough to get several pieces of clothing – genuine Cain Creations, one of the most famous and luxurious names around (coincidentally Traci’s former flame, apparently) – to take home for myself. When Cain himself learned that a House student was modeling his line, he insisted on the staff giving me as much merchandise as they could allow, so I just lucked the fuck out. One of my make-up artists, a very sweet lady with a tough Brooklyn accent, returns to me with three pieces, each wrapped in garment bags, assuring me they were clothes I’d already worn that looked “just gorgeous” on me. I thank her profusely and Jacob helps me carry them down to his car. I’ve still got most of my shoot make-up on, I was too busy talking to him to bother wiping it all off. When I realize this, he just chuckles and tells me I look good and to leave it on. And several minutes later, when we’re on the road, I realize we aren’t heading back to the house. When I ask where we’re going, he just says cryptically, “You’ll see.”  
We finally end up pulling into the parking lot of a rather swanky looking restaurant. People are coming and going from the place in such nice-looking clothing that I find myself gaping at the building with my jaw literally hanging open.  
“Troye,” Jacob says to get my attention, and in all seriousness, he asks, “will you go on a date with me?”  
I blink at him in shock. It’s not like this isn’t what I’ve been wanting for weeks – hell, months. But when I glance down at my normal street clothes, baggy sweater and jeans with a belt that still feels too loose, I stammer, “I-I don’t…I can’t…I can’t go in there like this!”  
Jacob, who looks fucking dashing in practically anything, including the sleek black suit he’s in right now, gestures to the garment bags in the back seat. “So change. I’m sure you’ll look hot in anything you put on.”  
I can’t help it. I break out into a grin. “So you want me to change in the back seat?”  
He shrugs. “I’ll stand guard.”  
With a little cackle, I dive out of the front seat and into the back, rummaging around in the bags until I find a suitable outfit. Red pants and suit jacket, with a shimmering black shirt underneath. I suppose my typical blue and white trainers are going to have to suffice for shoes, but that doesn’t even matter to me as I’m too elated by actually being asked on a real date for the first time ever. By Jacob! I’m too giddy to even contain myself and I make all kinds of ridiculous shrieking noises as I struggle out of and into my clothing. I hear him laughing at me from the front seat and smile to myself. I even glance over at one point and catch his eyes fixated on me in the rearview mirror – watching while I attempt to redress. He looks away as soon as he sees I’ve caught him, but I say nothing to deter him from continuing to do so.  
When I’m finally dressed, I lean into him over the seat and say, “By the way, that’s a `yes.’” And I plant a firm kiss on his lovely cheek before scrambling out of the car and into the night.  
I straighten myself out more when I can stand fully, and he joins me with a soft smile on his lips.  
“See?” he says, and leans in close to me. “I told you you would look hot,” and he takes it one step further by kissing me full on the mouth, out in the open, where anyone could see. He even slips an arm around my back to pull me closer. I feel his tongue slipping between my teeth and automatically allow him in, tasting him properly for the first time.  
And God do his lips feel good on mine…  
He pulls away with a smile, not even registering that I’m swooning, and pulls me along by that arm around my back, heading straight for the restaurant without even pausing to ponder if we really belong there. I almost feel like protesting, but with his confidence and easy swagger, even I feel like no one could say no to him. So I go along. Me, on my first real date, with easily the hottest guy I’ve ever met.  
Who says dreams don’t come true?

After one of the fanciest meals I’ve ever had, where I can barely pronounce the name of the food let alone eat it all, Jacob takes me back to the house and our conversation in the car revolves solely around how amusing it was that we were just in such a place. I tell him about how stunned I was, and he howls with laughter at my innocent stupidity. He admits that he barely ever goes to places like that because they’re so expensive, but that once in a great while, “I like to go just to splurge, if I have a good reason.”  
To which I hazard sheepishly, “So…I was a good reason?”  
He glances sideways at me. “You’re the only reason.”  
I’m not sure what exactly he means by that, but I decide to take it as a good thing that he finds me worthy enough to drop that kind of cash and potential embarrassment on. But I was a good boy that evening. I hardly made any silly mistakes and my coordination was not as bad as it can be sometimes. I didn’t even stumble around after they unknowingly served someone underage several glasses of wine.  
“Just be glad I didn’t get up and start dancing to that harp music,” I joke.  
“Oh, I’ll bet you can make even that look sensual.”  
I burst out laughing at his choice of words, but he sticks by what he says, nodding his head firmly with just a hint of a smile on his face.  
By the time we pull into the driveway of the house, I’m still buzzing from the alcohol and the sheer delight of what has just occurred. I’m so wrapped up in my own euphoria that at first I don’t notice his – and just as I’m about to get out of the car, he places a hand over mine to get my attention and pull me back toward him.  
“I had a really nice time tonight,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice is just precious.  
I smile drunkenly at him and echo, “It was lovely, Jacob. Thank you. But, um, was there any particular reason you wanted to go tonight? I mean, we’ve had, like, months to do something like this… Just wondering, you know, why now?”  
He averts his eyes to our joined hands, saying quietly, “No particular reason. Maybe all those months were just building up to this. Maybe because you just look so…” He hesitates, catching my wobbly gaze for a moment before smiling wider and admitting, “You just take my breath away. And I wanted to sweep you off your feet tonight when I saw you at the agency.”  
I blink, my eyebrows raised. “Consider me swept.”  
He chuckles at that, then leans in closer, his eyelids fluttering. “See, the thing is…” And he trails off, though his mouth keeps moving.  
I bow my head further in to catch his words, about to ask him to repeat himself, when suddenly he lifts his face to me, and I feel the pressure of soft but firm lips opening mine in one swift move. Before I know what’s happening, I’m tasting him full-on, his body half-turned in his seat to face me and his hands cupped gently around my neck to hold me still.  
Bloody hell. As if he needs to hold me there against my will. But any contact is good to me, really, and my eyes automatically slide shut as his kiss deepens and I feel fully engulfed by him. I try to shuffle closer in my seat, but his car just simply isn’t very suited for much else than this. So we do “this,” for quite a while. Hands roving and feeling and groping for each other while our breathing intensifies, and one of mine – purely by accident – lands right on his crotch. But when I feel the unmistakable bulge there, and his unmistakable moan of both delight and frustration, I hesitate for only a moment before attempting to find the zipper.  
But his hand finds my wrist in time and diverts it, instead entwining our fingers together while his other hand runs long, strong fingers through my hair. He may not want actual satisfaction just yet, but he sure as hell seems to enjoy kissing me. And there aren’t any complaints from my side either, of course.  
After several – and I mean several – long minutes, he finally breaks away, breathless and swallowing hard.  
“I-It’s getting pretty late,” he says in a strained voice.  
I tilt my head to the side in disappointment. “Oh…Did you not want to come inside?”  
“No, I really should be—“ He cuts off abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut, and then blurts out, “Actually, Troye, I want nothing else than to go inside with you…” He looks over at me woefully. “But it really is late, and you need your rest. Another night, I swear I’ll come in. Maybe the weekend? I’m sorry, sweetness, I just don’t want to do that to you.”  
I can’t say I’m not disappointed by this myself, but he has a good point. It’s already way past my bedtime, and I’m going to be feeling that alcohol by tomorrow since I rarely ever drink. But I don’t want him to be the one apologizing, after such a gorgeous time we’ve had together. So I shake my head and assure him, “No, no, you’re absolutely right. The weekend, then. It’s, um…” I smile shyly at him and shrug. “I guess you could say it’s a date.”  
The relief on his face to see that I’m not angry with him is so precious that I truly want to kiss him again, but I restrain myself. Well, all right – I give him one last peck on the lips, but then that’s it. Then he helps me get my clothes out of the back seat of the car, and I have to assure him about five times that I’ll be okay getting inside on my own. He waits in the car and watches anyway to make sure I make it, and I don’t hear him leave until I’m safely inside the house.  
And when I am, I turn to check that I’m actually alone in the front living room this time, and when I see that I am, I drop my clothes to the floor and let out a ridiculous squeal of disbelief, hopping up and down like a rabid bunny and hugging myself tightly.  
So this is what being in love is, huh? I can take it. I can most definitely take it.

I’m about to head straight upstairs to my room when I suddenly remember my agreement with the pervert, and I pause to send him a text. As I’m doing this, I hear voices coming from the dining room, so I gather my clothing and go in there instead, and am happy to find Dan and Phil still up, sitting at the table in front of someone’s laptop, playing some video game. But as soon as I come in, they both turn their heads and grin at me.  
“Ooooh, someone’s home really late,” Dan taunts.  
“Yeah, it’s almost midnight,” Phil says sternly. “You should’ve been in bed an hour ago, young man!”  
I blow a raspberry at him, but join them at the table anyway – in a very sloppy, uncoordinated fashion, dumping my clothes on the tabletop in the process.  
“What’re those?” Phil asks genuinely, dropping the Dad persona for a second. “You’ve come home with them, like, at least five times that I remember.”  
I explain to him about Cain and the modeling thing. His eyes grow huge – as if they could get any bigger – and he hisses at me, “You can get that!? Where do I sign up? My wardrobe is just getting so bland!”  
I shrug nonchalantly, more eager to tell them about my night. “Maybe if you sign on with the agency, they’ll kick you some free clothes too. Anyway—“  
Phil laughs out loud, adding, “Me, a model? That’s a joke!”  
I peer at him curiously, studying his face. “Hmm…No, not a joke. No, no,” I go on before he can protest again, “really! The both of you – I’m sure they’d try to get you some campaigns if you did sign on.”  
Phil’s laughter dies down when he sees I’m being serious. “Wot? Like, for real?”  
“Oh yeah! They took me, didn’t they?” I sit up straighter and start talking a million miles a minute, and they both stare dumbly at me the entire time. “Look, I’m truly not the best-looking guy around, right? I’ve got a million reasons for this. But they took me on board, slapped some make-up and the right clothes on me, and suddenly there I was, staring in the mirror at this other, like, creature, wondering how they got me to look that way. Maybe you guys wouldn’t need as much work done to look good – Dan, you’ve got naturally high cheekbones and an adorable dimple; Phil, your eyes are just, like, fucking amazing. And you’re both very tall, which they like. Jacob’s tall and they like that in guys. Just a dab of some make-up to, well, make up for the lighting and such, and they’d draw out the natural beauty you guys already have. Go in with me one day, I’m sure they’d at least try to get you in for some screen shots. And the pay is absolutely ridiculous, let me tell you…”  
It’s at this point that I realize they’re both just sat there, staring at me with smothered smirks on their faces. I hold up hands up in a helpless gesture.  
“Wot?”  
“Holy shit,” Dan snickers. “You are so fucking drunk right now, mate.”  
I stumble and stammer for some words, but all that does is make the two of them crack up into a fit of giggles.  
Finally I break down into a guilty smile. “Is it that obvious?”  
“How the hell did you get alcohol!?” Phil nearly shrieks, though he’s still laughing.  
I pause for a moment, then finally lean in further to them and proceed to tell them about my night – about my date. My first date ever. With the most charming, handsome, incredibly hot guy you could hope to find. I stumble a bit when I get to the end, where we made out in the car, but even that I disclose in a much quieter voice – even if it seems everyone else has gone to bed. Their faces look so bloody excited and happy for me that it causes all those giddy feelings from before to bubble up again, and I find my hands quivering with anticipation for the next time I see him. Perhaps for this coming weekend as well. When I finish on that note, they sit back in their chairs and gaze at me with approval. Even Daddy Phil.  
“That’s so awesome for you, man,” Dan says. “Really. It was so, so sweet of Jacob to take time and energy and money out of himself to lower to your standards…”  
I flip him the bird, only because there’s nothing around for me to throw at him.  
“But really,” Phil goes on in a moved tone, “that is so sweet! Your first date! And you were wearing your Chucks!”  
I groan, just now remembering the trainers on my feet, and I slap my forehead. “I’m so lucky the people at the restaurant weren’t paying attention!”  
Phil gets a misty look in his eyes and he glances back at Dan. “Aw, we never go on dates! Why don’t we ever go on dates? Mister Grumpy?”  
Dan scoffs, “Because we’re poor students. End of story.”  
Phil slumps in his seat. “Oh yeah. There is that.”  
“I’m telling you,” I push even more, “you should come with me to the agency! If nothing comes of it, so what? But what if something does? You could be making some good money for a part-time gig. So why not? What’ve you got to lose?”  
“Dignity,” Dan answers. “Self-esteem. Pride.”  
I wave that away. “As if you have any of those.”  
He pauses, pursing his lips. “Hmm… You have a point there…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan goes WAY too far; Dan's traumatic family life; Phan shower sex.

Logan  
It’s late when I hear the text tone ring, and for that reason alone, I don’t answer it. I’m awake, sure, but there’s no reason for him to be this late. It’s almost midnight. I just know he’s out with that hack photographer-model idiot, and that pisses me off. So I don’t answer.  
Almost half an hour later, the door finally opens – ever so slowly – and he comes tip-toeing in, hardly making a breath of noise. I don’t respond, instead choosing to stay silent and see what kind of state he’s in.  
I watch as he closes the door to almost a crack, enough to let just a sliver of light inside, but I can make out his figure moving around. That’s only because I’ve been in the dark for over an hour and am used to it, so the tiny bit of light he lets in is just enough for me to follow his movements.  
He places the bundle of clothes in his arms onto his bed, stooping lower for a second to carefully place the sneakers he must have been wearing on the floor. He hesitates for a moment, looking my way, but I imagine all he can see in this darkness is my form lying still in bed. He breathes in shakily, then starts to undress in the near-pitch-black room. And I watch every move, every shift, every slight shrug. Before he can even lay his stripped pants on the small pile of discarded clothing, I can feel my dick aching from staring at his nearly naked body. He turns to his dresser and his skinny arms strain to open the top drawer without making a sound. He grabs one of his oversized t-shirts and clearly struggles to close the drawer in the same fashion – and it catches, making the tiniest squeak.  
I reach over and flick on my light, startling him so that he spins around with a sharp gasp, clutching the t-shirt to his chest.  
“You’re back late,” I remark scathingly.  
I can see his face flinching in the dim light. “I’m sorry,” he whispers gently. “I was out – I just…I tried to text you, but you—“  
“Didn’t answer? Maybe it crossed your mind that I didn’t answer because I was sleeping?” I sneer.  
He winces, his hands worrying over each other. “Y-Yeah…I guess…I was trying to be quiet,” he insists.  
“Well, you weren’t.”  
He sighs, dropping his arms to his sides, then seeming to remember what he was doing, he pulls the t-shirt over his head to cover himself.  
Damnit.  
“I’m sorry,” he says again, closing the door and still gingerly stepping over to his bed. “I’ve had some to drink, so I might be louder than I think.”  
So that’s what sounds different about him, I realize – a slightly detectable slur.  
Normally I wouldn’t care what kids do, especially with alcohol. But seeing as it’s him, and I’m not feeling like being generous at the moment, I taunt, “Let me guess – you were out with that guy, weren’t you? The one who thinks he’s a photographer?”  
He starts to make himself comfortable in bed, but pauses to give me a hurt look. “He is a photographer. Bloody good one, too.”  
I scoff at that.  
“How d’you know?” he shoots back. “You’ve never seen anything he’s done! And besides,” he hisses, lowering his voice again as if he’s just remembering what time it is, “aren’t you a filmmaker? What do you care? Make your films, let him be the photographer!”  
So he’s starting to get an attitude with me, is he? I press my lips together firmly and snap, “So how old is this guy, anyway? He’s a grad student, yeah? Isn’t he a little old for you?”  
He rolls his eyes and flops onto his back. “Of all the stupid—“  
“I’m saying that because I’m just guessing he’s where you got the alcohol from. He could get in real trouble for that. You know. Underage drinking…”  
There’s a moment of pure silence from his side of the room, then he sighs, “What do you want from me?”  
I blink, startled at that question. “Huh?”  
He doesn’t move, but his voice sounds shaky. “I don’t know why you ride me so hard all the time.”  
Because I’m not riding you at all, you disgusting, beautiful queerboy.  
“So I just wanna know – what do you want from me?”  
Everything. Starting with your body.  
“Just forget it,” I say sourly, feeling all the fight drain out of me when I hear how defeated he sounds. I reach over and shut out the light. “If you start puking in your sleep, don’t expect me to turn you over.”  
“Thank you.”  
And I turn over in bed and pretend to go back to sleep.

I actually do doze off after a little while, but I’m jerked awake by the realization.  
He’s drunk. Not quite sloppy drunk, but drunk enough to slur his words and not be as witty as he usually is. On top of that, he’s a heavy sleeper. Pretty damn heavy, too.  
I roll back over to check my phone. It’s just past two in the morning. I can hear his steady, rhythmic breathing from my bed. He’s out for the night – if not more, depending on if he remembered to set his alarm. I flick my light back on; he doesn’t even flinch.  
Still, I’m cautious as I slip off my bed and step over to his. I sink onto the mattress, down by his legs, and watch for any sign of consciousness as I make myself comfortable. I peel back the sheet he’s covered himself with; no sign of a struggle.  
He forgot to take his make-up off again tonight. Which is fine. He looks more like a girl with it on, in fact, which makes this maybe a tad easier for me to swallow.  
Hell. It wouldn’t stop me either way. But it’s a nice touch.  
He fell asleep on his back, his legs perfectly straight and together. With as gentle a touch as I can muster, I pry his knees apart and clutch one from underneath, bending his leg as I separate it from the other. I’m too engrossed in this process to keep track of whether he’s waking up or not, but his breathing hasn’t changed, so I continue, pushing his large t-shirt up to his chest and gliding my fingers back down over his ribcage and stomach until they rest on his hips.  
I pull his right leg up and over my lap, facing him as much as I can but without actually crawling onto the bed between them. I softly brush my fingertips over the pale white skin of his inner thigh, silky to the touch and smooth. I exhale a shaky breath over his knee before bowing my head, stroking the same area – first with my lips closed. And then, my daring growing with each passing second, with my tongue. I close my eyes briefly as I taste him, cool and dry but so fucking soft. I check his expression when I open my eyes again; he doesn’t look like he’d notice even if he were awake.  
So I do it again. Longer, slower. Deeper. Until my head is practically rubbing against his crotch. There’s a very light murmur above me, but nothing else. I trace imaginary lines over his skin with my fingers, leave trails of saliva with my tongue, and suckle slowly at random areas throughout the space I’ve chosen. He exhales some curious little sighs and wordless mumbles, his head tilting back slightly, but nothing more. And with every red mark I leave on his thigh, I feel myself growing harder inside my boxers.  
So, with my free hand, I reach inside and start stroking myself off, careful not to go too fast – I don’t want to make any unnecessarily rash moves that would wake him.  
But a few moments later, I remember that he’s drunk, he’s asleep, and he’s not easy to wake up. With a heated head and my own tugging at myself, I start to lose my mind a little, and I carefully rest his leg down while moving upward. Without stopping my masturbation, I pull myself up over the rest of his prone form, up to his sleepy face. I have to take a moment to admire how pretty he looks in his modeling make-up, and then I’m leaning into him, maybe a bit too much, and I take those fucking tempting lips with my own, forcing them open with my tongue. It doesn’t take much for it to work, and he truly is not with it – even if he were awake, I doubt he’d know what’s going on. And I’m right, because as I deepen the kiss, my tongue darting around while I enjoy the feeling of his full lips against mine, he actually starts to respond. He gives a clearly audible moan as my erection slides between his open legs, against his own hidden hard-on (and the thrill that he has one sends shivers through me, forgetting that he’s just been with that other useless bastard), and suddenly his tongue is moving against mine. He tastes like cigarettes and wine, and I really don’t care about the first because of the second. His eyelids are fluttering like mad, but they don’t open, so I revel in the kiss for as long as I can. I find myself having let go of my dick, rubbing it fully against his with only the cloth of his boy-shorts underwear between us. The material is soft and his hips roll slightly up to mine, and we move together in a kind of timid wave, though I find myself pushing too hard.  
But then the magical moment is crushed – I pull back to catch my breath, and the teasing little fucker does the most alluring moan…of someone else’s name.  
“Jacob…”  
I freeze in everything I’m doing, glaring down at his sleeping face as if he’s just stabbed me in the back.  
Fuck it.  
No. Control. I have to stay in control. I lost it there for a while with the kiss and the dry-humping, but I have control again. (Sort of.) What I really want to do is flip him onto his stomach, yank that underwear down, and shove my dick so deep inside him that he has to wake up. And then I’d hold him down and keep going…  
But what I really do is back off from his mouth, sliding back down to my earlier position – and I slide his shorts down. Then I do the craziest thing I think I could do – I feel the warmth of his erection bump the bottom of my chin…and I take him into my mouth.  
Fucking hell. What won’t I do for this fucking kid?  
I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’m usually on the other side of a blowjob, of course, because I’m straight. So I just take him in my mouth and start sucking, probably harder than I should. But drunken, sleepy Troye seems to like it, as his head snaps back and two long arms start reaching for nothing, just waving around in mid-air for a few seconds. And I hold his hips and massage them in my fingers while I bob my head up and down, like drawing milk from an animal with my tongue and lips. And he makes the most delicious noises, heavy breathing, audible gasps, whimpering moans – but then he says that fucking name again, and I feel my stomach clench and my blood boil.  
But I persist, until he lets out something akin to a sexy squeal, and I feel my mouth filling with his cum. I pull back quickly – consider swallowing his cum for a moment – then change my mind and spit it out on the floor instead. Still not ready for that.  
While his body quivers and trembles from his orgasm, I lean over him again, inches from his face, pull my dick out of my boxers, and proceed to jerk off over him while watching him sleep fitfully beneath me. I’d think having an orgasm in your sleep would be a relief, but apparently for him it means you’re unconscious but not having the best time. He almost looks pained.  
I can work with that.  
I press into him, pleading, exasperated, hungry, demanding. His breath hitches several times, I see his eyelids starting to flicker, but at this point I’m lost and gone, and I can’t stop myself from slamming into him repeatedly, longing for him to either grow a pussy I can fuck or turn over so I can jam it into his sweet little ass. But neither happens. But I do finally come – when he lifts his bent leg, bumping into me, making it feel like he’s asking for more. That sends me over the edge, and I end up shooting all over his exposed belly.  
Shit. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s sexy as hell, but now I have to clean it. Otherwise he’ll have a clue – which, remarkably, he doesn’t have at the moment. But I suppose if you’re not used to alcohol and then have a lot of it in one evening, on top of being a dead-to-the-world type of sleeper, you’re not going to notice much.  
This is how girls get raped. It’s a good thing Troye was with me tonight, instead of someone he doesn’t know. He should feel lucky. Someone else would have totally taken full advantage of him.

Dan  
In hindsight, coming out to my family at sixteen was not the best choice. To be more specific, coming out to my father at any age would not have been the best choice. Perhaps my mother and little brother could have handled it well enough. But I should have known better, really. I should have known his reaction would be dramatic, inflamed, and ultimately violent.  
Most people don’t know how bad my family life truly was back in England, or that I’d started applying to Baines as soon as I’d heard about the place because of how bad family was. I love my mother; she’s the sweetest thing in the world, unassuming, easily duped, hence her marriage to the evil oaf overlord. My brother, seven years my junior, was far more of a man than I ever was, and somehow was the one my father believed in. I have no doubt that favorites were played, and I wasn’t it.  
I’m not saying that to be petty or jealous. It simply is what it is. Still, thousands of miles away, I can feel his contempt for me – contempt he’d had since I was conceived, which ultimately inconvenienced him. But I’d never hold any of that against my brother. He was the child they would have had anyway, had their relationship taken the usual course. I was, basically, the toss-away my mother loved but my father put up with.  
So when I came out to them, I should have prepared myself for the inevitable. But I wasn’t quite right in the head when I did it, wasn’t thinking properly. I was so scared, I didn’t think of how to protect myself, or that I would need to. I certainly didn’t expect it to go down well, but I had to get it off of my chest and out of my system, to get it out into the world so I could continue living again without that weight. I stupidly thought perhaps I would get at least a dash of support and an assurance that, though they didn’t understand it, they still loved me.  
Maybe I’m the unassuming, easily duped one. Because all I got out of that confrontation was a split lip, black eye, and bruised ribs. Along with an attempt to throw me out.  
But I also got reassurance from my mum, and a promise from my little brother that he would always stand up for me as he did that day. It was the only way my father would have stopped beating me, he said. And he was right.  
Even before admitting my sexuality, I was my father’s punching bag. Granted, I was a loud-mouthed, irritating little shit who never took things seriously until it was pounded into me, quite literally. But even I’ll say that I didn’t deserve most of the beatings I got.  
That day, after I told them, and my little brother just smiled at me as if to say, “Good on you, mate, you be you,” and my mother looked torn between disappointed and wanting to hold me to tell me it was all right, my father was the one to take charge of the situation, and his solution was to beat me to a bloody pulp, proclaiming no son of his was going to be a fairy. He proceeded to punch and kick me into a corner, literally, and scream at me in some incomprehensible language. Maybe it was just the ringing in my ears.  
But by the time I was on the floor, trying to shield my stomach from more kicks, my baby brother – only a tender nine years old at the time – was the one to come to my rescue. I suppose it was meant to be that way, as he never went after my mum or brother. That brave little munchkin actually ran in between us and slumped to my side, holding his arms out protectively, begging my father to stop. He was in tears, I could tell by his voice. He’d seen me get beaten before, he’d stopped my father from going too far before as well. But this was somehow different.  
“It’s not his fault!” he’d cried. “It’s just who he is! Leave him alone!”  
I’d tried to push him away out of fear that the madman would forget his precious boy and haul off and hurt him as well. But my brother wouldn’t let go of me, clutching my arm with one hand and keeping his other arm out to push anymore blows aside.  
Luckily, nothing else came. The angel boy had saved me. Kind of. My father shouted at me to “Get the fuck out of here before I get back from the pub!” And a few slammed doors later, my mum and brother were helping me back to my feet. Mum kept saying she would talk to him, to ignore what he said, it was ridiculous…  
I thanked them both, then limped off to my room to start packing. Halfway through, my mum came in and reminded me that I wasn’t leaving, and started unpacking what I’d just packed. She sat me down on my bed, speaking to me soothingly, and cleaned up my face with a warm towel. She tried to dry my tears, which I rarely ever shed – not even when being hit, but this had been a huge thing for me. But they just kept coming. All of her motherly love was just being wasted on me because I knew that behind it was a violent, close-minded man who didn’t like me even as his own son.  
So that night, while she kept him from breaking down my bedroom door and dragging me out of the house, I used my old laptop to do some research, and that was when I came across Baines University in New York. I discovered several scholarships one could apply for – and I applied to every single one I qualified for. I wasn’t even finished with school at sixteen, but I got started early so I could secure a safer future – far away.  
When I got the acceptance letter two years later, I was ecstatic. But not getting the full scholarship was a huge letdown. I basically couldn’t go at all, then, because we simply didn’t have the money to send me to school overseas, and especially not to a university like Baines. I began to despair, thinking I would be stuck in that bloody awful house with that bloody awful man for the rest of my life.  
And then, two weeks later, I received another letter. Apparently, the original recipient of the scholarship I’d been hoping for turned it down. I was the alternate choice. Therefore, I was going to Baines – tuition free, with half my room and board covered as well. I nearly fainted when I read that letter, and I wanted to get it framed. I was going to go to university, for free, overseas – far, far away from HIM.  
Nothing could have made me happier.  
Except that in my second year, I was asked to join the House, and that was when I met Phil.  
THAT was when nothing could have made me happier.

But what really makes me happy is waking up in the morning to find the bed across from mine is empty, because I know what’s going on. So I prepare myself by stripping off my pajamas, wrapping a towel around my waist, grabbing what I need from the nightstand, and heading to the bathroom.  
Sure enough, I can hear Phil in the shower, singing softly to himself even though he knows it echoes in there and we can still hear him. It’s not a bad rendition of…whatever song he’s singing…  
Okay, so he’s never going to be able to join any kind of community chorus, much less a professional one. But he’s having fun and enjoying himself, that’s all that matters. Little does he know, I’m going to be breaking that fun up in a few moments.  
I open the door – the lock has been broken since before we’ve been here, so we all just have to be extra cautious about checking to make sure no one is in there first; Alec insists he’s tried to get locksmiths out to the house but they all shy away when they see how old the place is. I slither inside and set up the items where I know I’ll be able to get to them. Phil doesn’t even notice he’s not alone anymore, still humming away while he washes.  
Then I toss the towel away and step gracefully into the bathtub, and the movement of the shower curtain finally catches Phil’s attention and he whirls around, yelping at the intrusion. I grin mischievously at him.  
“Morning,” I greet him.  
He holds a hand against his chest, chiding me, “Daniel! You just scared the shit outta me!”  
“Good,” I snicker, stepping closer. “No obstructions then, eh?”  
“Wot? Oh – OH! Hey, hey, hey,” he tries to protest when my grabby hands start groping at his slick body, mostly around the middle so I can pull him closer to me first. “Not this morning, Daniel, I have a lecture at nine and you know I need to give myself plenty of time to get there, since I’m usually distracted by homicidal birds or crazy homeless people—“  
I ignore his protests and slide closer, pressing our bodies together and soaking up what water I can.  
“It’s not even eight,” I inform him. “And we’re conserving water.”  
He presses his lips together in a straight line and looks up at me with that exasperation in his eyes that means he’s not truly affronted at all.  
“C’mon,” I urge him, wrapping my arms around his torso and rubbing up against him in such an obvious state of arousal that his breathless chuckle sounds less amused and more intrigued. “Just this once,” I pout, tilting my head down and rolling my eyes upward to give him my best puppy-dog look. “I’ve already got all we need…”  
He hesitates, and in that brief moment, I duck an inch lower and nip at his lower lip.  
“I’m all dirty,” I tease, knowing how ridiculous I sound. “Maybe you can…clean me up?”  
At that, he bursts out laughing, his body attempting to double up even though I’m preventing it.  
So I wedge a leg in between his and work my way against him, until my very obvious erection is pressing against his thigh and hip.  
“But seriously,” I murmur as his chuckling subsides, “I’ve got it all here. Why not cross `shower sex’ off our never-ending list?”  
He murmurs something unintelligible, but in the next instant, he’s pulling back the shower curtain and reaching for the lube and a condom.  
“That’s my boy,” I smile, accepting the condom.  
“But we have to do it fast,” he hisses, turning his back to me as he opens the lube up. “I’ve already been in here too long.”  
“Oh?” I rip the condom open and slide it easily on, trading my trash for the lube he hands over his shoulder. “And what exactly were you doing with all that time?”  
“Singing,” he answers sheepishly, bending over to place the trash in the box. I take the opportunity to slide my hand up between his ass cheeks, startling him but slathering the lube in place at the same time. He glares at me over his shoulder, not realizing that it just turns me on more to see those gorgeous blue eyes peering at me in such a smoldering fashion.  
“You said to be fast,” I remind him, and he scoffs as he presses his hands against the wall in front of him, bracing himself.  
I set the lube aside and, as per his request, ease myself inside of him as quickly as I dare. He ducks his head low, stifling a cry and crumbling a little bit, but his hips stay in place and he presses harder against the wall to keep from falling. Once I’m firmly inside him, I wrap my arms around his torso and chest to anchor myself to him, and concentrate on just using my hips, not quite thrusting but simply moving up and down, in and out of him, as gently as possible without knocking him over.  
Even this awkward position and the very real possibility of slipping aren’t enough to deter me from my mission – to hit that magical sweet spot inside of him that makes him just melt into my arms. And within a few minutes, though he takes the searching like a champ and only whimpering uncomfortably a few times, I finally find it. And when I do, he gasps sharply, his hands turning to fists against the wall, and his lower half shifts slightly to enable more of that to follow. I continue stroking him, burying my face in the back of his neck, careful not to inhale any of the water cascading between us, but unable to hold back the moans of pleasure of feeling him so tight around me while I move. My hands glide over wet skin to his hips, and I hold him still as he slips a few more inches downward. He’s still got a firm grip on the wall, though, so I feel comfortable enough to grasp his hips as I drive myself deeper inside of him.  
Phil is unable to keep back a sudden cry of euphoria, not quite his orgasm, but getting very damn close. I encircle one arm around his pelvis, continuing my strokes, and reach with my other hand to close around his erection. I work my hand around him expertly – hey, before I knew Phil, it wasn’t like I had much else to do but practice on myself – and finally pull him to a state of sheer bliss, his cum dribbling over my fist like the water itself. Accompanied by a most seductive moan which sends me on a spiral downward with the peak being that sense of utter pleasure and excitement. I come back to myself to find I’m still bucking my hips forward, and, swallowing hard, I regain control of myself to slow down until I can properly slip back out of him.  
He straightens up slightly before falling back into me, moaning again with his eyes closed.  
“You’re such a bad influence on me,” he breathes.  
“Hey,” I giggle, “you said we had to be quick…”  
I’m interrupted by a sudden knocking at the door. There’s a slight creak, and then Alec’s voice calling through the noise of the shower, “Hey, who’s in there? Phil?”  
Phil clears his throat and tries to stand straight, as if Alec is looking right at him. “Uh, yes?”  
“Long enough, buddy, c’mon. Other people need the shower too.”  
“Oh, um, okay…”  
Phil reaches to shut off the shower, and as soon as he does, it goes quiet, and I stupidly ask in a normal voice, “Who else showers in the morning besides you, you freak?”  
“Huh?” comes Alec’s voice, as if he’d been leaving and now he’s back. “Did you say something, Phil?”  
Phil slaps my chest as I pull back the curtain and reach for my towel.  
“No, Alec, nothing,” he answers, wrapping himself in his own towel and gathering his clothes.  
“Oh. Okay. Hey, listen, if you could, would you try to find Mark today and tell him to get ahold of me? I have the estimate for the window.”  
“Sure, man,” I answer with a shit-eating grin on my face. “No problem.”  
A moment of confusion, then an exasperated, “Dan…Are you in there too?”  
As the door squeaks open, Phil quickly tosses the now wet box of condoms and tube of lube into his used clothes, clutching them to his chest to hide them.  
“Uh, I was just…”  
At Alec’s crooked eyebrow stare, I simply smile at him and repeat, “We were conserving water.”  
And at that precise moment, the box chooses to break under the water damage, and a cascade of gold-wrapped condoms come spilling out of Phil’s clothes.  
Alec stares at us both in turn, a vague smirk playing about his face. While Phil looks like he’s going to shit himself.  
“Uh-huh,” Alec drawls. “I’m sure.” He clears his throat and gestures to the pile by Phil’s feet. “Pick those up and get out of here in two minutes. Other people do use this bathroom too.”  
Phil and I both nod agreeably.  
“Water conservation,” Alec mutters as he leaves the bathroom. “Yeah, like that’s a new one.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Felix annoy Logan; Troye and Jacob FINALLY make love; Jacob gets to tell Logan off

Dan  
The next day after classes, since we’re both let out around six, Phil and I decide to order a pizza once we’re home so we can have dinner whilst we work on our assignments. I make sure to order a large because I know at least a few people will be by to steal a slice, as well as some hot wings and – my signature – plenty of dipping sauces. One can never have too many dipping sauces. Phil constantly makes fun of me for it, but he’s never complained of running out of them either.  
Sure enough, it isn’t long after the pizza is delivered that Felix comes traipsing into the dining room where we’re set up, and after stealing a slice, he announces, “I’m glad I caught you two.” He holds up a memory stick and waves it in front of our faces. “Got a new game – still in beta, mind, but I think you might like trying it out, see how you like it.”  
And without asking, he slides the stick into one of my USB ports and types a few keys whilst I meekly protest. I finally give up and let him do what he wishes to my laptop, warning him that, “If anything goes wrong or I get any viruses, I’m blaming you entirely.”  
“No viruses,” he assures me with a pat on the back. “Just plain old goosey fun.”  
Phil and I both squint up at him, but I’m the one who repeats, “Goosey fun?”  
And within moments, the screen is taken up by a lovely, if somewhat childish, view of a backyard pond where a single goose, crudely depicted, is floating in the water. Felix explains the controls to me in a whirlwind, then crouches down to give us a quick demonstration.  
Whilst he does this, my attention is distracted by footsteps coming down the spiral staircase. The man who appears at the bottom is tall, slim, and looking stylish in a blue suit, a pair of sunglasses perched on his head. It takes me a moment of staring, but I finally recognize him as one of Traci’s friends from the other night. What he was doing upstairs in the students’ bedrooms, I’ve no idea, but he doesn’t seem to be sheepish about it.  
“Gentlemen,” he greets us, waving a hand. “Lovely to see you all here.”  
“Uh, hi,” I respond warily, and he obviously sees the concern on my face.  
“I’m Jarvis,” he goes on, holding his hand out to me. “The filmmaker?”  
Recognition sparks in my brain and I shake the outstretched limb, though still cautious. “Oh right. You’re the one…”  
“I was just upstairs with Marzia.”  
At the sound of her name, Felix nearly slips in his spot as he turns to him, repeating, “Marzia? You mean…MY Marzia?”  
Phil scoffs, smacking Felix on the arm. “She’s not YOUR Marzia, you dingbat. You’ve hardly even held hands yet.”  
Felix seems about ready to hyperventilate, though.  
Jarvis holds up his hands to calm him, assuring the sputtering Swede, “No need to worry, um…Felix, is it? Yeah, no need to worry. It was purely business. I was discussing with her some ways she could better edit her films – which are, by the way, incredible and you all need to see them. Have a lot to do with certain people’s lifestyles,” he coughs, nudging me on the shoulder.  
I give him a sour look. “Oh? She’s taking on the gay agenda, then?”  
“I mean queer student life, to be exact,” Jarvis corrects, “but if you want to slap that slogan on it, I guess it’s apt.”  
Unfortunately, at that moment, Logan comes out of the kitchen and smiles when he sees us gathered at the table.  
“Oh, Christ,” I groan, just waiting for the stupid jokes to start.  
“Nice to see you, too, Dan. Phil. Ummm…” He glances at Felix briefly before shrugging him off. “The other one.”  
Felix just chuckles, not offended in the least.  
“So, Phil,” Logan starts, “you get laid last night?”  
Phil stays silent, not willing to play along with the guy’s games.  
I, however, am a loudmouth prick myself, so I answer, “Not that it’s any of your business, Logan, but – it’s not your business. God, why are you so obsessed with my and Phil’s sex life? Are you some kind of pervert?”  
“Some kind, yeah,” Felix answers for him. Then he nudges me, urging me, “Hey Dan, watch this. Hey Phil, you get laid last night?”  
Phil glances at him and nods, smiling widely.  
Logan looks perplexed, even a little irked, as Felix cackles and continues toying with the laptop.  
“Hey, Dan,” Logan sneers, a smirk on his face, “how long is your dick anyway? No lying.”  
“Logan!” Phil exclaims.  
I level a cold glare onto him, giving him my deadliest stare. “You know, that is probably the single most disgusting, rudest thing anyone’s ever asked me. You can go get fucked.”  
Chuckling, Felix adds, “Hey, Dan, how long is your cock?”  
I look over at him easily. “Nine inches. Flaccid.”  
While Felix looks impressed, Logan scoffs, “Hey! You just ignored me and went—“  
“Excuse me, um, Dan?” Jarvis cuts in. “Did you ever think about maybe…doing movies?”  
“Fine!” Logan goes on, determined to win the Pervert Contest. “Dan, Phil – who’s top and who’s bottom?”  
“Logan,” Phil groans, holding his head in his hands. “I swear to God…”  
“Yeah,” I scold him. “That has now become the rudest question I’ve ever heard. Who the hell asks that!? You some sick twist who gets off on knowing this shit? Jesus!”  
“Hey, Dan, Phil,” Felix starts, almost unable to keep from laughing, “who’s the top and who’s the bottom?”  
I turn back to him again and answer conversationally, “Well, really, we switch, Felix, although mainly this schoolyear Phil’s been bottom. But we’re both quite versatile.”  
Jarvis clears his throat. “Um, have either of you thought about doing movies? I’m a filmmaker…”  
With that, Logan lets out a wordless yell and slams the chair in front of him into the table, then storms up the staircase.  
As soon as he’s gone, we all bust up into fits of the giggles. Though Jarvis recovers first and asks, “But seriously, guys – ever think of doing movies?”  
“Hello?” comes a familiar voice, and Phil calls back that we’re in the dining room.  
Troye and Jacob come in, each carrying a few garment bags each. We all gawk at him.  
“Wow,” Phil muses. “Cain must be feeling awfully generous!”  
“It’s been like this for weeks now!” Troye shakes his head in astonishment. “I can’t believe this guy actually wants to give away his clothes like that! But then, I guess he can afford it, and they are tailored to fit me specifically, which is kind of a unique, um, build, I guess…”  
Jarvis steps in between us and them, looking over both of them curiously. “Have either of you ever thought about—“  
Jacob raises a hand and answers, “Part-time model, not interested in movies.”  
Troye smiles sheepishly. “He gets that question a lot, sorry, Jarvis.”  
Jarvis nods, then points at him. “And you?”  
Troye sputters, then shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, I couldn’t…I’m way too busy as it is.”  
“Don’t take him seriously anyway,” Phil interrupts. “I still don’t believe he’d put any of us in them.”  
“I would!” Jarvis insists. “God, walking into this place feels like walking into the backstage of a fashion show dressing room! All these gorgeous people—“  
“And all are legal!” Troye quips as he pulls out his cell phone. “Now, if you excuse me…”  
“Oh, Logan? Yeah, he’s upstairs,” I grunt. “Probably not in the best of moods either.”  
There’s a long pause, then, “That’s funny.”  
“What?”  
He holds up his phone. “He says he just left and won’t be back tonight.”  
I exchange glances with Phil. “Huh. He was literally just here.”  
Phil shrugs. “Maybe he was too pissed to stay. Probably went out the front door.”  
I scrunch my nose at that, but just end up shaking my head instead. “I guess. He’s one tight-assed little prick, I’ll tell you.”  
“Well, if he’s not upstairs,” Troye gestures with his hand to the staircase, “then we’re gonna head on up. Get these things out of our arms before they drag us down.”  
“I told you I could get more than just three,” Jacob chides him.  
“I’m fine!” Troye insists, and leads his friend to the staircase. “Just hanging around holding them starts to get tiring. Oh, uh, nice to see you again, Mister Jarvis.”  
“It’s just Jarvis, love,” he insists, waving goodbye as the two of them head upstairs. After a moment, the older man sighs. “Damn, there are some gorgeous people here.”  
Phil rolls his eyes; Felix straightens his shirt collar like he’s straightening a tie; and me, I just scoff hang my head in my hands. Much like Traci would, actually.  
Oh shit. Don’t tell me I’m gonna turn out like him…

Jacob  
As Troye leads me up the winding staircase to the second floor, he apologizes for everything under the sun – having to get a ride, having to recruit my help to carry his clothes upstairs, not having anything for me to snack on, even the state of his actually immaculate room. I tell him not to worry about any of it, but really the most important thing here is that I’m grateful for the fact that his roommate isn’t around. Not that anything else bothers me, but that is one blessing I know I can be thankful for. I can’t recall the number of times in the past two months where I’d help Troye into the house with something, or come to pick him up if I hadn’t seen him on campus, and I’d run into the dude. There was something really shifty about him. He always seemed to be sizing me up. And I know how he treats Troye, and I don’t like that one bit myself, so if anyone should be doing the sizing-up, it should be me.  
Luckily, we won’t have to worry about him tonight. And I’m more than happy about that.  
I make myself comfortable on the side of Troye’s bed, setting my backpack on the floor beside my leg, as he starts hanging up one garment bag after another in his closet, which holds about one-third of his own clothing, and the rest more bags from Cain’s line that he must feel too precious about to actually wear yet. I remark that he should start, and Troye chuckles.  
“These things aren’t for campus life,” he explains. “At least, I can’t see myself wearing them there. Well, except for this shirt, which is pretty tame. But as for the rest of it – probably a bit much.”  
“Why not?” I challenge him airily. “They’re lovely clothes, and you in them make them look fabulous. So why not look fabulous while you’re making music?”  
He giggles slightly, obviously uncomfortable with my compliment but not wanting to swat it away. Instead, he opts to simply say, “Maybe one day I’ll have the courage. For now, I guess I’ll just save them for special occasions. Like our date the other night – that was appropriate, right?”  
I draw in a deep breath and absently brush my hands over my pants, clearing my throat as I turn around to him. “About that…”  
Troye suddenly slows in his hanging, the smile that had been on his face now fading. “Oh…um…yeah?” I can’t believe how worried he sounds.  
“It’s nothing bad,” I assure him quickly, but he still gulps so hard that I can hear him. “Really, it’s not bad at all. In fact, it’s, um, it’s good. It’s really good.”  
He raises one eyebrow at me, giving me a strange look. “Okay,” he says deliberately. “So…what about it?”  
“I was just thinking, you know, that since we’ve already known each other this long, and we’ve already had the one date…”  
“Y-y-y-eah?”  
“That maybe we can sort of…skip ahead a few?”  
He blinks at me, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”  
I gesture at him to finish hanging the last garment bag, then ask, “Could you maybe…close the door?”  
He glances behind himself and gasps, as if he honestly forgot that it was open. He closes it quickly but quietly, then sees my outstretched hand and smirks a little.  
“What’s this about, then?”  
I wave to him to join me, and take his hand as soon as he’s close enough, pulling him over to me and down into my lap. He’s taken by surprise by the sudden loss of balance and my arm there to catch him, but he doesn’t resist.  
He giggles again sheepishly, not sure what to make of my behavior. But he doesn’t question me this time, merely lets me reach up with my free hand to stroke his soft cheek as I gaze at him.  
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur softly, honestly in awe of his seductive face – the large eyes that can look so tempting whether they’re wide and alert, or half-closed and hypnotizing; the high cheekbones so sharp you could cut glass on them; the luscious full lips that always look ripe for kissing…  
But my words draw a strange reaction from him. His eyes go wide and he sputters, averting his gaze shyly as he shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” he insists emphatically. “Beautiful? I could maybe pass for `cute’ or even `pretty,’ but `beautiful’ – no, no, no… I mean, look – I’ve got these ears that stick out like a big dork; this very, um, Jewish nose, for lack of a better word; my eyes look like a fuckin’ bushbaby, all buggy-outy; I’m way too thin, probably cut a guy who tried to touch me; got these birthmarks on my face, granted they’re hard to see, but they’re still there—“  
I cut into his rant by placing both hands on either side of his face, pulling him closer, and smothering his speech with my own mouth. A deep, penetrating kiss that not only shuts up the endless supply of self-hate-speech, but tastes and feels so damn good on my lips.  
He finally stops protesting long enough to kiss me back, having been taken off-guard at first. When I finally feel like he’s calmed down enough to accept a compliment, I pull away gently and repeat in a whisper, “Beautiful.”  
He looks stunned – and in that instant, stunning. Staring at me with half-lidded eyes, his mouth slack and slightly open, gazing at me as if he wants me to go on about it. Which, I don’t know, maybe he wants to hear more, maybe he’s just in a daze. I go for the second one, as it seems this clever, witty brain is having trouble processing that someone like me thinks him to be that penultimate word: BEAUTIFUL. Simple and complex as the word and meaning are, I’ve said it, it’s out in the open. To me, he is just simply…beautiful.  
And then I break his spell by pulling him closer for another deep, sultry kiss, and this time he’s almost overwhelmingly responsive, his arms encircling my neck and his tongue tangling and erotically stroking my own in his mouth. Just the taste and feeling of him in my lap is enough to start me on a trip I’m willing to take, a long fall I’d love to plunge into.  
My fingers slide over the sleek black button-down shirt he’s been wearing all evening, and without breaking the kiss or bothering to look, I feel for the tiny plastic circles and start undoing them, one by one. He, on the other hand, has no qualms about pausing in the kiss to yank my t-shirt off over my head, especially because he then gets to run his long, elegant hands over my chest and feel actual warm flesh beneath his fingers, and when I glance down briefly, I love the look of his painted fingernails scratching lightly over my chest, pausing briefly to tease my already erect nipples. I suck in a sharp breath and lift my head, catching him up in another deep kiss as my own hands – larger than his, stronger – slide the open black shirt over his small, bony shoulders. I return the favor and let my fingers stray further downward, tweaking his deep pink nipples until they’re hard, which in turn causes him to arch his back toward me. As I continue to tease him, he moans into my mouth, a soft, sweet sound I can both hear and feel.  
I slip the shirt off his arms and toss it aside – if he were dead, Cain would probably roll over in his grave if he knew I’d done such a thing with one of his articles of clothing…or maybe he’d feel flattered, I don’t know. Then I wrap my arms around his long, skinny torso, pulling him close to my own naked chest, and I rest a hand at the base of his neck as I kiss him again – not deep enough to get lost in, not yet, but enough to leave him looking up at me in wonder when I pull back slightly. I brush my lips gently over his, savoring how soft and luscious they are. I’ve thought the phrase in my head hundreds of times over the last several days – hell, probably thousands over the last two months or more. But when I’m finally here, with him in my embrace, his arms around my neck and our bodies pressed so closely together, I can’t seem to find the words I want.  
Then I focus on his eyes, realize he’s been watching me with those gorgeous baby blues this whole time, and he seems to drag it out of me. The words come tumbling out of my mouth in an urgent but sincere whisper against his lips: “I want to make love to you.”  
He blinks at that. Probably startled at the wording. From what I know of his clubbing days in Australia when he was younger, two to three years ago, he’s gotten lots of come-on lines from guys. All of them very crude or demanding. Usually using an expletive of some kind. So for him to hear that, a most genuine and pure desire, must be shocking.  
I almost want to take it back as soon as I say it. Does it make me sound too soft? Too silly? Too romantic?  
Fuck that. It is what I mean, it’s what I said. So I level my gaze at him – and am startled to see his eyes glazed over, his breathing shaky. And I realize: no one has ever said that to him before. He was always a “fuck” or a “lay” or whatever other crude names there are for it. But in that one simple phrasing, I’ve somehow managed to make him feel even more treasured than “beautiful” could ever mean.  
He confirms this idea by suddenly tightening his arms around me and pressing his mouth over mine, moaning seductively as his body quivers against my own. I revel in the kiss, but I don’t waste anymore time than I already have these last several months. I let him go, but only to reach down and feel around his waist for the zipper to his pants. To my pleasant surprise, there isn’t one; it’s an elastic waistband which is riding rather low on his hips, and all I need do is slip them down further, and he’s more than willing to oblige my urgings to pull them off. He doesn’t wear boxers or briefs, to my delight, but these cute little boy-shorts that are made of the softest cotton. They come off easily, and I add them to the pile on the floor, while taking the time to run my hands over the bare, smooth flesh of his legs. I’m startled by how they feel, but I’m not about to ruin the moment by asking how they got like that.  
Surprisingly, he pauses for only a second to explain in a husky voice, “I wax.”  
I smile and chuckle at that, adding, “You’re a very brave man,” as I reach for the fly of my own jeans. Getting out of them is a little less simple than undressing him, but he, again, helps my efforts by standing briefly so I can wriggle out of the jeans and boxers I’m wearing. But when I’m as fully nude as he is, he shifts slightly and drapes his left leg over my other side, this time straddling my lap as he lowers himself. My heart is racing as I realize just how hard I am, and how close he is to finding that out too. But he doesn’t seem to be in any rush – he simply replaces his arms around my shoulders and continues to kiss me, while I rest my hands over his tiny waist and run my thumbs over sharp hip bones. So maybe he could cut a guy on them – but for me, that’s quite a turn-on.  
He draws away from my mouth to leave a trail of kisses down my chin to my throat, around to the side of my neck. I can hear his slightly labored breathing near my ear, and then his gentle voice admitting sheepishly, “I, um…don’t have anything…” He trails off, clearly embarrassed, as I try to work out what that means.  
“Anything…?”  
“I-I…never…There was no one, really, that I was with, so, well…I never got anything…”  
It connects in my head what he’s saying, and I hold up a finger to break away from him for a moment. I duck down towards my backpack and retrieve the condoms and lube, and he smiles uncomfortably.  
“I just didn’t…you know…”  
“I hope it doesn’t seem presumptuous of me,” I cut in quickly. He starts shaking his head, but I go on, “I just got them yesterday, I swear, and I’d been thinking we’d talk about it and maybe try this weekend, but then…I don’t know…I knew I was coming over tonight, so I just kind of…hoped…and I threw them in there – I don’t normally carry them around—“  
He’s smiling at me, obviously charmed at my own sudden self-consciousness and rambling, and then he takes the objects in question from my hands and sets them aside, murmuring, “Well, you’d better start,” and in a moment of self-confidence, grabs my shoulders and pulls me close to shut me up with a kiss. It seems we both like doing that to each other. It’s a good method, especially if all the other person is saying is self-conscious babble.  
It’s impressive; he even seems to be a few inches taller when he kisses me, my head leaning back. I know it’s just the positioning of him on my lap, but I like this more confidence Troye, the one who takes charge and does exactly what he feels like doing. Especially if I’m the one he’s doing. All I can do is rake my hands down his sides, feelings his ribs and the slight incline of his waist as I work my way down to his hips again. I even follow the motion of his body as he releases me again, this time to reach for a condom. It’s almost disturbing how easy it is for him to get it open and ready, but then I remind myself that he’s confessed to me that he had quite an…active…lifestyle back when he was a “club kid.” I didn’t know how many partners that meant, though he didn’t seem to feel any kind of true desire for anyone, but I figured I’d let him keep that secret to himself. The bottom line, he insisted, was that he wasn’t sick and was damn lucky he got out of there as he did.  
It’s been over a year since then, however, and in that year, he’d remained abstinent and got tested regularly, “just in case.”  
I believe him. But now that I think about it, I’d like to know a little more about that time. Not for any other reason than my own curiosity.  
But at the moment, I couldn’t be bothered, as he’s kissing me full-on at the same time that he’s rolling the condom over my fully erect cock, going slowly as if trying to drag it out, or torture me. I can even feel him smiling faintly against my lips as he does it.  
Okay…so he’s turning out to be kind of a clever little tart, is he? I smile back and reach for the lube before he can get ahold of it. I squeeze a little bit on my fingers and reach around his back, snapping him closer to me in one swift move. And just to be a retaliatory bastard, I slide two fingers inside him, no warning or anything. He gasps against my mouth, his hands clenching automatically around my cock, and that in turn makes me gasp. It’s a whole chain of events that shows that we cannot be mature, even in bed.  
But at least we can laugh about it. He calls me a dick, I call him a bitch. We’re even, and I continue stroking him with my fingers as he finishes with the condom and reaches for the lube himself. He spreads some on his own erection, then more on mine. Then he shifts himself again, just a few inches, and I grip his hips tightly as he slowly comes down on me, literally all the way down, taking every last inch of me inside himself. He tilts his head back with a groan and wraps his arms around my neck. I take the opportunity to reach between us, carefully taking him into one of my hands and starting to pump him slowly. His ass clenches around me and I wince – so tight it’s painful, but a good kind of pain. I lose my breath, but I don’t let him go, and before long, he’s moving himself, riding me nice and slowly as he leans forward to balance on my shoulders, his breathing heavy in my ear, mixed with the most delectable little whimpers. I only feel a moan escape me when I can’t keep it down, otherwise I’m fully absorbed in listening to him, which just makes me feel like I’m getting harder.  
He may be long-limbed (most likely a symptom of his mild Marfan’s), but he’s so slight that I barely feel a weight on top of me. All I can feel is the sweet heat and tightness around my cock, the gorgeous sensation of being inside his body. I try to match him for every time he slides down on me, but he’s mostly in charge here, and really all I’d have to do is lie back and let him do the work. But I just can’t. I can’t keep my hands off of him, can’t stop kissing him wherever I can reach – his lips, his cheeks, his neck and shoulders. I revel in running my hands all over his body, relishing the smooth, soft skin and heat he’s emanating. I feel his hands in my hair, his head tilted back, his hips rubbing against my belly. I stroke his erection and he bites his lip, moaning when I thrust myself upward into him. Until my own urgent desire starts to take over, and I wrap an arm around his back, easing us both downward instead.  
I lay him down gingerly, sliding further between his legs. I hitch his right leg over my shoulder and reach up with both hands to grip his shoulders from behind, balancing my own weight on my arms and knees. And I start thrusting into him fully, deeply, drawing out the sweetest moans from him. I’m using just my hips to move now, so I can continue kissing him, catching his gentle voice in my mouth. I untangle one arm from his shoulder to drag my hand up and down his thigh, giving him shivers with just my fingertips. He runs his painted nails, just a bit longer than boys usually have, over my chest and tweaks my nipples, returning the favor by making me shudder with pleasure.  
But my biggest pleasure is further down, where we’re connected, where I’m buried so far inside of him that he can’t even form words, only groan and whimper – and then he moans my name, and I have to close my eyes. I never expected something so small and sweet to be able to move me like that, but it quickens my breath and causes my hips to lurch forward, making his head snap back. My head delves into the crevice there and I’m suckling his neck, breathing hard and thrusting into him again and again with everything I have. I grip his leg fiercely, clutching him to me something fierce, moaning into his ear and simply losing myself in the all the sensations his body has to offer. Everything he’ll let me have, even if only for this moment.  
And it feels like only a few moments, but it has to be longer, because when I lift my head from his neck, my hair is damp with sweat, and when I look down at his euphoric face, his is too. I can feel my orgasm just waiting to consume me, and I’m ready for it to do so, but not until I know this sweet little thing is sated as well. I finally let go of his leg and squeeze a hand between us, clutching his throbbing erection in my slick hand and stroking tenderly. He lets out a dangerously seductive moan, and I have to steady myself before continuing on, too easily overwhelmed by his vocal reactions. But I need to get him off soon, or else I’m going to come before him, and that would just be humiliating.  
Or, at least, I wouldn’t feel right about it. I just simply need to see him come, I want to see his face, I need to – it’s one of the only absolutes I knew of when I first realized I wanted him this way. But he just feels so goddamn good, I can’t keep myself from holding back much longer. I find myself thrusting into him more urgently, faster, deeper, causing the bed to squeak – but at least it’s got a nice rhythm to it, I think faintly. And so do his gasps, his precious breathless responses to my sudden need to fill him, to sate both of us. He’s basically just holding on for dear life now as I try to maintain some control of myself.  
He is NOT just a casual fuck. He is NOT just someone to get off with. He is so much more than that…  
And when I remind myself of this, I slow down, lean closer to him, and whisper against his lips, “Oh Troye…God, I love you.”  
And that, it seems, is all he needs to hear. He lets out a soft, high-pitched sob of my name, and I feel him come over my hand, his hips bucking sporadically, his muscles inside twitching, squeezing and releasing me in almost a heartbeat fashion. He buries his hands in my hair and pulls me in for a kiss, moaning into my mouth. When he pulls away briefly, he gasps, “Love…you…too,” before smothering us both again. And that, it seems is all I need to hear as well, as the next instant I find myself ramming into him fiercely with the strength of my orgasm behind me, jerking and thrusting to get all of the energy out.  
And when I do, I end up collapsing on top of him. He doesn’t make a peep about being crushed or needing air, but I know he must feel that way, so I scramble to get onto my back beside him. For a long time, I just lay still, listening to our breathing until it regulates. Then Troye sits up, reaching for a blanket at the foot of the bed. Just seeing him leaning over almost makes me hard again, but I push the thought away – I’m way too tired at the moment. Plus I’m still basking in the glow of this, our “first time.” I’d like to savor it for a while.  
He pulls the blanket up and asks in a whisper, “Did you want to stay?”  
I smile at the hopeful look on his face, and nod silently. He smiles back and offers me half of the blanket. I’m still feeling warm, but if it means he’s under there, there’s no way I’m refusing.  
So he snuggles up to my chest and covers us both in the blanket, and I rest my arm behind his head, playing aimlessly with his damp curls. It’s quiet between us for a long time, and I’m almost convinced he’s fallen asleep, when he suddenly asks, “Did you…Did you mean it?”  
He doesn’t even have to say what he’s talking about for me to understand. Sometimes people say things in the heat of the moment that might not truly reflect their honest emotions.  
I reach over and lift his head by his chin to look up at me. There’s an unfair amount of worry in those beautiful eyes, and I lean low to place a soft kiss on his lips.  
“Every word.”  
A shy smile spreads across his mouth and he averts his eyes. “Good…Me too.”

I doze off for a while after that, but not too long later, I hear the unmistakable shuffle of feet in the room. I open my eyes to find Troye still asleep on my chest, but before I can marvel over how adorable he looks, my attention is drawn to the other figure in the room. I snap my head up to find HIM there, standing at the foot of his bed, frozen in place when he sees me staring at him. I didn’t hear a door open or close, but he’s suddenly there, holding a small black box in his hand and looking every bit like a burglar caught red-handed.  
“Hey,” I say sharply without thinking. “Bit of privacy?” Then I remember Troye and glance down at him in a panic.  
“Don’t worry,” Logan says in a normal voice. “Brat can sleep through an earthquake. You could dry-hump him and he wouldn’t notice,” he adds, sounding a bit sour.  
I look back up at him warily. “What?”  
“Huh?”  
“What did you just say?”  
He shakes his head and then points to Troye. “I’m gonna wanna have a talk with him later, by the way. Make sure he knows that. I told him, no queer shit in my room.”  
“Queer shit?” I snap. “What the fuck does that mean? And why are you even here?” I hiss at him, my arm around Troye tightening unexpectedly. “You said you weren’t coming home tonight.”  
He hesitates, fumbling with the box in his hand, whatever it is – it looks kind of familiar, maybe a rare camera model or something. Finally, he answers, “I ended up coming back.”  
I’ve heard the stories, though. I’ve heard all about the stupid rules this prick’s come up with to keep Troye out of the room. The snarky attitude and insulting names he’s called him. So I don’t feel any sympathy for the bastard.  
“So why are you here?” I ask sternly.  
He cocks his head to the side. “Because it’s my room, dick.”  
“It’s Troye’s room too, DICK.” I point to the door. “Out.”  
He glares at me, his eyes huge, and his face starts to turn red. “What did you just say? Did you just tell me to get out of MY room?”  
He even starts to get puffed up, his arms and hands clenched by his sides.  
I delicately slide my arm out from under Troye’s head – man, he wasn’t kidding; kid doesn’t even flinch – and shove myself out of bed, standing straight up and putting my arms over my chest. Yes, I know I’m naked – no, it doesn’t bother me.  
Seems to bother Logan, though. He makes a disgusted noise and holds up a hand to censor me.  
“I SAID, OUT,” I repeat. “You kick him out of here all the time whenever you’re with some girl. Right now, he’s with his BOYFRIEND, so GET…OUT.”  
He sputters and stammers for words for a few moments, then finally heads for the door. Just before leaving, he turns to me and hisses, “This isn’t over yet, Jacob. You’ll be fucking sorry for this one.” And the slam of the door is what finally makes Troye snap his head up.  
“Hm? What? Wha’s goin’ on?”  
I slide back into bed with him, putting an arm around his shoulders and urging him to rest his head back on my chest.  
“It’s nothing, sweetness. Just a bug I had to squash.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Terrible Foursome are in a rut; Dan reminisces about his life in England; Logan eats boundaries for breakfast - and breaks the law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Contains graphic sexual content - as a victim, I don't derive pleasure from this, but am working to accept details I'm still coming to terms with. Very hard to write from perspective of abuser. Major trigger warning.

Jack (Sean)  
I may not be a House member, but I’ve every right to document something of the Terrible Four’s activities, FIRST, because the real members of the House who are also a part of the Terrible Four are either too busy with schoolwork (PJ) or too much of a flake (Felix) to do so; SECOND, because I truly have the best writing skills amongst the four of us, even if PJ is technically at university for screenwriting (doesn’t mean you’re a good writer, mate); and THIRD, because I bloody well say so.  
I believe the House actually played host to a “Terrible Three” at one point, but that was ages and ages ago, so surely no one I’ve ever heard of.  
And clearly the smack across the back of my head from Traci as I wrote that signals that the Terrible Three existed whilst he was a student here. So that answers that question. Age of the Dinosaurs!  
PJ finally gets a few hours of rest from his studies – who would’ve though screenwriting would be such a rigorous field? I suppose the professors truly want the writers to learn how to talk good – so the other three of us decide we’re feeling generous enough to take him out to eat. At a diner. Hey, students’ wages here, right? You’ll have the jam and toast or you’ll starve.  
We gather into Mark’s car, grab the “oh shit” handles, do several nauseating turns and U-turns, and finally end up at the diner – which was really just a mile away but took us half an hour to get to. Thank you, Mark. Your GPS was not necessary, and should die immediately.  
We pile out of the car and into the diner, and are pleasant to the nice young woman who seats us at a large corner table.  
“Must’ve seen your laptop,” I quip to PJ, who rolls his eyes at me. “No, seriously,” I insist as I slide into my spot on the inside with Felix. “That thing’s about as big as Dan’s cock!”  
We can’t help it; ever since we’ve discovered our pal’s true, uh, dimensions, shall we say, the four of us can’t help but compare every large object to the poor boy’s blessed endowment. In and out of earshot, mind. Because we all know Felix can’t keep a secret, so we found out that very night he learned of it.  
Now, come on, not all of us are gay; but it’s pretty hard not to notice a package when a shirt gets hitched up a tad too far over the jeans, or something along those lines. So yes, we all noticed over the last two-plus years, and we all wondered.  
We can tell when the two of them are having sex and we’re in Felix and PJ’s room – even two doors down, we can hear Phil’s voice sometimes, and no voice like that can be heard for a two-inch cock. So yes, in summation – we all knew.  
Truth be told, I’m not quite as impressed by Dan as I am by Phil – he takes that in himself on a near-nightly basis? Now THAT’S impressive!  
The hostess takes our drink orders, and as the rest of us are perusing the menu, PJ turns on the laptop and starts tapping away on keys within minutes. I sigh at him to wait just a few minutes until we get our orders in, but PJ can’t be stopped, so I give up.  
Then, lo and behold, there comes our girl, our sweet Louise, the lovely gal who only just started working here three weeks ago and nagged us to come in since then, saying she needed customers for good tips. I don’t know why she came to the four of us, thinking we have money, but we thought it would be a nice habit to take up, a nice hangout, if you will, for the four of us to frequent on our Friday nights. Usually we just chill out and doze off in Felix and PJ’s room, draped in various positions over the two beds that are a huge step up from the cots Mark and I are stuck with in the dorms. Once in a while we’ll be up for hitting a club, but it’s rare that all four of us are game at the same time. It’s a bit like an orgy – it’ll only happen if all participating are into it. Otherwise it’s just a threesome. Or a couple. Or one guy with his dick in his hand and three others glaring at him to put it away.  
As always, Louise is friendly and kind, if a bit saucy on the innuendos, though she insists she isn’t like that with normal customers. My guess is she still makes them, they just aren’t picked up by the minds that she normally serves. But the Terrible Foursome know practically every trick in the book, and that includes the common assumption that we ARE just a travelling orgy.  
We put in our food orders and Louise gracefully flutters off into the depths of the diner kitchen (knocking a folding table over by accident on her way; luckily there was nothing on top of it…), and then I pull out the cards.  
“All right, men, time to get down to it,” I announce, and the other three groan. I give them all LOOKS and remind them, “We’re supposed to be trying new things, right? Get out of our rut of playing games even whilst not recording for the channel, or lying around listening to Dan and Phil have more of a sex life than any of us combined? Remember?”  
PJ finally tears his eyes away from his screen to peer at the cards in my hands as I shuffle. “And you think poker is going to cure this?”  
“Well, no,” I admit, “but it’s a better idea than any of you guys have come up with. So c’mon, lads, let’s get those wallets out!”  
They all reluctantly concede; PJ even slides his laptop to the side. I deal out the cards and set the remainder in the middle of the table whilst everyone studies their hands carefully.  
After nearly a full minute of silence, I hazard, “Okay, so, this is nice. It might not be a console game, but it’s still a game. We can handle this. Um…how do we start?”  
Felix raises an eyebrow at me. “Shouldn’t you know this? You’re the dealer. Not to mention the instigator of this ridiculous bullsh…”  
“OKAY!” I start. “Does anyone wanna trade in any cards?”  
“You can do that?” PJ asks, looking puzzled.  
“Yeah,” Mark answers. “I think it’s…up to two cards each? Maybe three?”  
I let out an audible sigh. “Okay, who here knows how to play poker?”  
A frightening silence befalls the table. Including from myself.  
Felix smacks me over the head with his cards. “You idiot! You’re the one who suggested this stupid shit!”  
“Okay, okay, calm down,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “Let’s try something else, then. Ummm…”  
“How about gin?” PJ cuts in.  
I scoff. “It’s a diner, you asshole, not a bar.”  
“No, the GAME, gin.”  
“Oh…Okay, how does that one go?”  
He stares down hard at his cards. “I think…that I do not know.”  
I groan and slump my head onto his shoulder. “You’re no help, mate.”  
“I know!” Felix exclaims, holding his hand up. “Go Fish! That one’s easy!”  
“Yeah,” Mark coughs, rolling his eyes. “Easy for five-year-olds.”  
“Fine then, Mark, let’s start. Do you have any aces?”  
Mark pauses, running his fingertip over the cards in his hand. He looks confused, then asks, “Wait, do you ask just one person or the whole table? I forget.”  
I groan as I drag my head off of PJ’s shoulder, “Guys, c’mon! Doesn’t anyone know any card games?”  
“Sure,” PJ says, scooping up the remainder of the cards and holding his hand out for everyone else’s. We all oblige curiously. And the instant he has all the cards in one large hand, he bends them and flicks all of them over the table and floor. “Fifty-two card pick-up!”  
Of course, that’s the same moment Louise arrives with our appetizers. She sees the mess PJ’s made and quirks an eyebrow at us. “Really, guys? You’ve sunk this low, have you? Who did it?”  
The Terrible Foursome are nothing if not a strong, cohesive unit!  
Three fingers point to PJ with a chorus of, “HIM.”  
Louise sighs and gives him a weary look. “Pick them up, PJ? Please?”  
He grumbles and ducks under the table.  
So much for an exciting night out.  
I turn to Mark and demand, “Whose bloody idea was it to leave the house tonight?”  
He shrugs helplessly. “Yours.”  
Damnit!

Dan

Don’t get me wrong. I love sex.  
Granted, it wasn’t always like this. I used to fancy other boys, sure, but whenever it came to actually acting out that kind of interest, I felt rubbish at it. As if bragging about it for weeks, then suddenly being confronted by an opportunity, and I realized, hm, no, maybe not that interested after all, thanks.  
I was no virgin when I met Phil, but I can’t say I could count on two hands the number of partners I’d had. I’d made out with several boys around my own age, sure. And I’d never really fancied anyone much older or younger than myself. But all of my “experiences” were limited to, okay, two other boys, and only one of whom I’d actually gone all the way with. And even that had been an awkward, nerve-wracking affair, despite knowing this other boy fancied me as well. It was simply not right, even if it felt kind of good at the time. We only made out a few times and then slept together once, and then nothing came of it after that.  
Being with Phil, as much as we just sort of fell together after being friends for a short time, simply felt right, in every way. We were friends so I actually felt comfortable. Physically we were compatible and found each other attractive to want to touch – much less just be around each other. We just fit together. We made up for what we lacked in each other’s personalities and expressions. We did well as a comedy duo. And in private, our bodies just seemed to meld together perfectly, into one – as cheesy as that sounds.  
It wasn’t until after we’d slept together a few times that he discovered my poor home life, and though I was reluctant at first, he gradually was able to draw out of me all the torture I’d had to endure at the hands of THAT MAN. Phil could tell I was heavily traumatized by it, though also heavily confused and conflicted because of my attraction to men. I hated myself for several reasons – not just the conditioning of society to reject homosexual behavior, also being bullied at school quite viciously simply because of HOW I was, but also my self-loathing for being attracted to something (men) that caused me such pain.  
Meeting Phil was like a beacon of light, then. I could be attracted to a man, someone I could CALL a “man,” who was also sweet, sensitive and innocent – yet could put me back in my place if I overstepped my bounds, with mere words and gentle reminders? This simply couldn’t be! I was used to others using violence and mind games on me if I strayed from their idea of “normal.” Bullies assumed I was what I, well, really was and beat me to humiliate me. My father tried to control me by beating me. So why would I feel an attraction to any of that, especially sexually?  
Because I hadn’t met Phil yet. And his wisdom and simple lead-by-example attitude were enough to intrigue me. Apart from, yes, being physically attracted to him, I was deeply attracted to his personality, that sweet innocence, along with a two-fold belief system wherein violence was never the way, yet there was a strong sense of protectiveness as well.  
I guess you could say I craved that kind of person in my life. Someone peaceful and happy, yet could throw down to stand up for what he truly believed. Oh, by no stretch of the imagination could Phil fight anyone or anything really, not physically, but he would fight tooth and nail, so to speak, to prove his point, or protect something he felt was worth it.  
My first winter holidays belonging to the House, only months after hooking up with Phil, I made my mother very sad by not returning home; instead – though I would never tell her, letting her believe I was working a job around campus through the break – I went with Phil back to his mothers’ house near Manchester. I spent just over a month with his family, his older brother and two mothers, and just by observing quietly (before being dragged into the fray) what a loving family was supposed to look like.  
After that trip, I became sad and pulled back from Phil for a few months. I worried for my little brother, who may have been the apple of my father’s eye, but for how long? I worried for my mother, who had been and may still be exploited in one way or another (at least taken for granted) by my father.  
That was when Phil and I had our so-called “rough patch.” It was mostly caused by my own fears – of not deserving such a love as he had to give – and despondency – for knowing that whatever life I grew up with, simply was not normal; that I was hated for who I was, who I had always been.  
But when I’d finally had enough and broke down, going back to Phil completely and blatantly, exclusively, I’m talking blurting out “I need you, I love you, take me back” in a mess of tears and apologies (which he never spoke of later, just accepted lovingly), I decided that I was never going to look back again. Even if I had to confront those fears and go home now and again, I would feel stronger, strong enough to be able to deal with it.  
And, shockingly, I was. The first time my father lost his temper with me over summer holidays that year, I simply requested very politely for him to not hit me, and could we not talk out our disagreement. My little brother had been in the room at the time, so that was a help – not that it had always stopped him before, but it slowed him down. Instead of talking back smartly to him, or just losing all emotion and taking it like I deserved it, I stood my ground and spoke quietly and calmly. My father couldn’t handle it and stormed out of the house.  
My heart had been pounding in my chest, readying myself for that first blow. But it never came. And my relief in that moment had been monumental. I knew I’d lucked out, that if he truly wanted to, he could haul off and whack me around like usual. But in that moment, I felt like I’d won something, and I fed off of that until the end of summer, when I could go back to school and be with Phil again.  
Which brings me back to the sex. Someone like Phil…you wouldn’t suspect him of being such a lewd person. And for the most part, he isn’t.  
But then there are times like now, when I’m lying on my back on my bed, and he’s straddling my waist, and all I can think of is the sweet, hot tightness around me while he rides my cock like it’s the only sexually appealing thing in this world. My hands rest on his hips, but he’s the one taking charge, his hands planted firmly on my chest and his nearly translucent blue eyes piercing me as he moves his body like a smooth wave, up and down on me. And the noises he makes while he does it – no porn ever got to me like that, and no other person in my life ever got to me like that. If it makes my cock feel like it’s hardening even more, and there’s a twinge in my gut that feels both painful and pleasurable, then I know it’s right.  
And this – this right here, in my arms and on top of me – is just perfect.

Logan

He finally comes stumbling into the room a little after eleven o’clock, while I’m lying in bed and about ready to turn the lamps off. He’s not nearly as careful to be quiet as he was last time after his “date.” Tonight he’s unapologetic about how noisy he’s being. In a strange way, I like this way better – this way, I have ammunition, I have something to hold over his head.  
“Sorry, Logan,” he says as he closes the door, and with just two words, I can tell he’s drunk. Not just tipsy like before, but actually, fully, fall-down drunk. Except he hasn’t fallen down. Yet. “I saw the light on and figured you were up.” He drops his backpack unceremoniously onto his desk, and without so much as a glance in my direction, he yanks off his jacket and slings it over the desk chair, then starts unbuttoning his shirt and kicking off his boots at the same time.  
I gawk at him as he continues undressing, stunned by how indifferent he is at the moment. It’s probably the alcohol, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything but getting into his sleepwear – and what he pulls out of his dresser is hardly sleepwear. He tosses his dress shirt into his laundry basket as I stare at his half-naked body, then pulls on a very short, loose crop top before undoing his tight black leather pants and peeling them off.  
“I, um, was about to go to sleep,” I say, trying to muster my usual amount of scathing irritation, but as he’s undressing so easily in front of me, I find myself stammering for words. I swallow hard when he’s simply in his small shirt and shorts ensemble, his striking wavy blond hair a sexy mess around his face, which is still painted from work. Thick black eyeliner and deep crimson lips taunt me from across the room as he smiles crookedly at me before sliding into his seat at the desk. He rummages through his backpack for a few minutes, checking through some random papers with unsteady hands.  
“Wrote some new songs tonight,” he explains over his shoulder, though I haven’t asked. He must REALLY be drunk to divulge information like that to me, when he knows I couldn’t give a shit. Especially when he adds, “They’re about Jacob. I’m thinking of playing them for him tomorrow, if he comes over.” And he takes great care to spread the sheet music out on the desk in the proper order, everything crisp and clean.  
I sigh heavily, trying to find my resolve to be as nasty as I can to him. But just looking at him tonight is sapping my will. Maybe it’s because I haven’t gotten laid in a while, but just seeing him is making me hard, making me feel a little bit more…interested.  
As he stands from the desk again, raking a hand through his hair, he explains in his accented slur, “Was out with some friends tonight. We played some drinking games. I’m terrible at them.”  
“Obviously.”  
He turns around to face me, looking sheepish. “Again? Am I that bad?”  
“Worse than last time,” I confirm in a strained voice, my attention falling to somewhere around his bare, flat belly. He doesn’t seem to notice. He stumbles a little and reaches out for the edge of the bed, causing me to unintentionally sit up straighter – as if I would help him. What the hell am I thinking? If he falls, he falls. Brat shouldn’t be drinking anyway.  
He giggles at himself as he regains his balance, and I decide to take advantage of the situation by hopping out of bed, crossing the room in a few steps.  
“Don’t tell me you’re gonna puke THIS time,” I warn him as I stand beside him in nothing but my boxer shorts.  
Somehow, I feel insulted that he barely gives me a second glance, just waves a hand at me and says, “I’ll be fine. Don’t feel sick. Just a little off-kilter, that’s all…“ And with another step, he starts to stumble again, but I reach out and grab his arm, surprised it doesn’t snap in half when his movement stops.  
He giggles again and seems eager to get out of my grasp, pulling his arm away quickly. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and starts to walk to the other side of his bed.  
And I’m left to stare at his cute little ass walking away from me.  
“You know,” I start, desperate for something to make him stop, “you really shouldn’t be drinking so much. Or at all. You’re only nineteen. Maybe it’s different in Australia, but here, you have to be twenty-one.”  
It works, and he pauses to turn back to me, reminding me calmly, “This is only the second time it’s happened, and it won’t happen again for a while. I’m just blowing off some steam. I promise, I won’t go drinking again for a long time…”  
But I don’t want it to end there. I grab him by the arm to stop him, and he spins back, startled, but this time when he tries to retrieve his arm, I don’t let him.  
“I’m telling you, Troye,” I insist, “if it does happen again, I might have to tell Traci.”  
He rolls his eyes haughtily, definitely way more drunk than he was last time to put on this kind of attitude.  
“I said it won’t,” he repeats, then waves his other hand at me. “What do you care anyway? You wish I were dead, remember? You don’t want no faggot roommate or queer shit going on in YOUR room, right?”  
The words repeated back to me sound harsh – but I know I said them, and meant them. But seeing the smoldering, patronizing look in his gorgeous eyes in this moment makes me weak. So I tighten my grip on his arm and pull him closer.  
“I’m just trying to look out for you, you ungrateful little bitch,” I hiss at him.  
He outright laughs at me then, his intoxication so obvious, I can smell it. Literally. “There it is, that’s the Logan I know – always with the name-calling. Can I have my arm back please? I’d like to go to bed now, and you’re being a complete dick, as per usual.”  
At that, I press my lips together in a thin line, and a second later, I yank him so hard that he missteps and, with my other arm directing him, ends up slamming his back into the door.  
It sounds like it hurt – but he just lifts his head and grins up at me. “The fuck was that for? I’m trying to get away from you, just like you wanted—“  
“How do you know what I want?” I snap, stepping up almost flat against him, still holding his arm. “You don’t know anything about what I want.”  
“I know you want me out of your room,” he reminds me. “That’s what you’ve been saying for weeks!”  
“Fuck you! You know what I want?”  
“All fags to die slow, painful deaths?”  
Before I can stop myself, my free hand shoots out and grabs the hair behind his head, pulling him close to my face. “I want you, you stupid cunt,” I hiss at him, and slam my mouth into his before he can even react to my words.  
The kiss is sloppy, unreturned and frankly a dismal failure – but I do get to slip my tongue between his blood red lips for a few seconds before he overcomes the shock and turns his head away.  
“What the fuck’re you talking about?” he gasps, reaching up to his mouth like I’ve just bitten him. “You’re STRAIGHT! You don’t want me!” He lets out an almost shrill laugh as he stares up at me, looking scared. Confused, affronted – but mostly scared.  
And with a wary gaze glued to me, he pulls my hand off his arm and squeezes out from my trap, walking away while still looking over his shoulder at me.  
But oh no, I’m not letting it end like that. I follow him quickly as he tries to get to his bed, and I help him along – I practically lunge at him, grabbing his shoulders and throwing him down as hard as I can onto the mattress. A brief scuffle ensues, and I manage to get him onto his back, and then somehow my hands end up around his throat, squeezing hard. He jerks his head backward, audibly wheezing for air as he gropes and scratches at my wrists, his eyes and mouth wide open in shock. When I come around to myself, I let go quickly, scrambling off of him. But after that mistake, I realize he isn’t moving – just lying on the bed on his back, his hands fallen to his shoulders, legs bent and curled to the side. In a panic, I lean over him, shake him, try to find some sign of life.  
To my relief, he’s breathing – but whether it was me or the alcohol, he’s blacked out.  
So, seeing as I have a little time, I continue on with what I wanted to do in the first place. I scurry to the far side of my bed, pulling out the tripod and camera I used to film him and Jacob the other night. I set it up with his body in the shot, taking up most of the frame, but allowing some room for myself and a little movement. I start recording and slide my boxers off, then head back to the bed, kneeling over his form and gingerly patting his face to wake him up.  
His eyes open easily, and, as if the previous few minutes haven’t happened at all, he murmurs, “When did we get a spinning room?”  
I breathe a sigh of relief. Not only did his blackout seem to erase everything else that just happened, but he sounds like the unassuming little idiot he usually is. No clue at all.  
“You’re so fucking drunk,” I remark with a smile as I crawl onto the bed and reach for his shorts. I have to pull his legs out straight to get them off, which is no problem, but he shifts his hips just as I’m about to do it and he glances down to realize I’m naked.  
“L-Logan?” he says cautiously. “W-What’re you…What the hell—“  
I shush him quietly, and continue stripping him. He doesn’t protest or fight back, surprisingly. Instead, his eyes roll back in his head and he falls back onto the pillow behind him. Another blackout, I assume – not a bad thing at all, really. Not for me. I get his shorts off first, then slip his small shirt over his head and toss that aside too. When he’s fully naked beneath me, I run my hands over the length of his body slowly, down to his legs, caressing them and savoring the feeling of the silky skin. Then I spread his thighs apart and inch my body closer to his, hitching both his legs up over my shoulders.  
I spit several times into my hands, as I don’t think either of us has anything like lube hanging around. Not even lotion. Well, knowing Troye, he probably has lotion of some sort, but what kind and where, I’ve no idea. So I have to rely on good old-fashion saliva to lube myself up. And actually I feel a bit of a thrill, knowing that I’m going to get to feel him in a way that not even his precious Jacob has yet.  
“L-Logan,” comes the trembling voice beneath me, and I glance down to find him awake again, and looking awfully pale to find himself caught on me in such a position. “P-Please…Look, I’m sorry for talking back—“  
“It’s not about that,” I assure him, continuing to lather up my dick. “This is purely what I told you it was before.”  
“Which was…?”  
He truly doesn’t remember. He’s fucking plastered. “That – I – want – you,” I remind him angrily.  
“Y-You…WANT….me?” he repeats, swallowing hard.  
I nod my head, leaning over a little to prove to him how trapped he is at this moment.  
“N-No, wait,” he protests, “L-Logan, don’t do this, please, no—“  
I shrug helplessly as I feel his legs straining to slide from my positioning, but I only bow forward and pin him down so he can’t move at all.  
And in this position, I realize, I’m perfectly set up to do what I’ve been only teasing myself with all this time – a true kiss.  
Well, as “true” as he lets it be. He turns away from me several times, in which case I’m forced to slap him across the face, ordering him to be cooperative. He finally complies, and my tongue delves deep inside his mouth, tasting him in a moist, possessive kiss I can’t help but groan through.  
He breaks away once, asking shakily, “Do you at least have…Are you wearing—“  
“I don’t do rubbers,” I inform him.  
He stares up at me and I level my gaze back down at him. “B-But…It’s just safer—“  
“I don’t care,” I insist. “I’m gonna FEEL you, got it? The way no one else has felt you before.”  
He hesitates briefly before confessing, “Maybe not the only one…”  
I gawk at him, grabbing his wrists in strong hands and shoving them down against the mattress on either side of his head. “So you ARE a little slut, huh? So how many?” I demand hotly. “How many others?”  
He winces at the grip I have on his wrists, as I’m twisting them fiercely to get him to talk. He only shakes his head, tears starting to form in his eyes, and admits, “I-I dunno…We never really thought about it ‘till…later—“  
For this indiscretion, I award him another slap across the face. Hard. The next time he pisses me off or tries to distract me, he’s getting a fist.  
Finally, I let go of his wrists, reaching between his legs, and use my free hands to guide myself in, surprised at the ease in which I find his entrance and can slip inside. The intrusion tenses him up again, and he gasps, trying to lurch away from me. But I’ve come too far to let him ruin this for me now. I grab his hips and hold him still, forcing myself deeper as he tries to grope around for some kind of hold on the bed – whether to stop me or to get into it, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m simply too strong and insistent for him. When he reaches down to try and find his discarded shorts to pull back up, I swat his hands away, finally resorting to grabbing both wrists with one hand and pinning them above his head. My other arm hooked around his waist to control his movements, I ease myself deeper inside, drawing a pained cry from him suddenly and a sharp jerk of his hips to try and get away again.  
It’s strange he has such a bad reaction to it, because personally, I’m adoring it. The heat and tightness of his body around me, the way he squeals and whimpers whenever I push a little harder. He draws in a sharp breath at the same moment I pull back before slamming inside again, and I have to let go of his other hip to slap a hand over his mouth, to stifle the scream that he lets out. He struggles to sit up, kicking with his pinned legs, but I just throw myself further down on top of him, knocking him onto his back again as I lurch upward inside of him. I keep my hand pressed firmly over his dark lips because he won’t stop with his yelling, and fighting off his struggling hands is becoming too difficult, even for me.  
I hiss at him to shut up, threaten to strangle him again if he doesn’t knock off his fight, but the most effective thing I can do is keep thrusting inside of him – it may draw cries of pain and fear from him, but they’re enough to freeze his body for a few moments. And the faster I keep up that pace, the less he’s able to fight back. So I concentrate on that instead. And within a few minutes, he’s passed out again, his head falling back into the pillow and his arms falling limply above his head. Grateful for the chance to actually revel in this, I find myself unable to stop fucking him, feeling his muscles so tight around me and his soft, smooth legs draped over my shoulders. I lean in close to him and let my tongue dance along his exposed throat, up over his jawline to his cheek. I catch his lips in another deep kiss and feel him gradually waking up, hear his low moans from our joined mouths. It’s a welcome sound compared to his previous yelling.  
When I glance up, I see that his eyelids are fluttering. He’s awake, but not very aware. So I lean in closer to his ear and whisper to him, “Can you feel me inside you?”  
He murmurs something unintelligible, but it’s gentle and sounds so sweet that I feel a twinge in my gut, driving my thrusts on faster.  
“You like it, don’t you,” I tease him, knowing the real truth behind whatever he might say. He’s gay, after all – isn’t this what they like? “You like my dick inside you, fucking you…”  
He only moans in response – it could pass for a moan of pleasure, but then I feel a dampness pressing against my face from where our cheeks are joined.   
“Oh, c’mon, you fucking bitch,” I hiss at him, wiping his tears away harshly with the back of one hand. “You know you love it. You were just traipsing around here in your underwear, knowing I’ve been wanting to fuck you for weeks. Months. You think I’m gonna ignore that?”  
He doesn’t answer in any way, not even a moan. Only lets his breath get taken away with every push.  
He doesn’t seem very chatty at all, in fact, so I simply continue fucking him quietly, except for my own low moans and grunts. He lies there silently, limply, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling while his mouth is slack, slightly open. So he must have simply decided to drop out of the whole thing. That’s fine. Fucking FINE. I’ll do it myself, then.  
And I do. For a good long time, until I’m working up a sweat and panting my lungs out, while he’s still just lying there looking catatonic.  
Somehow, even without his participation, I finally manage to get off, and the feeling of getting to shoot inside of him is pure rapture. It takes me a long time to come down from my climax, and when I do, I slide out of him and let his legs drop to the mattress.  
Before I can even make a snide remark or say something lewd, he turns onto his side, his back to me, and covers himself with a sheet. Most of his back is still visible, uncovered by sheet or shirt, and I run my knuckles down his spine as I ask, “So how was that for a first-timer? Pretty fucking good, huh?”  
He sighs wearily, but answers, “For someone who wasn’t invited? I’ve had better. And they weren’t invited either.”  
He sounds so despondent, and he’s obviously acting that way too. I flip my hand and touch him with my fingertips, more persistently, along his long, pale back, and he tenses, curling in further on himself just out of my reach.  
I stare at him some more, but he’s not talking, and he’s not moving. Finally, I sigh and stand up, heading for the camera. “Well, that’ll be an interesting show to watch later.”  
But I guess he’s just not willing to play along, as he doesn’t answer me – about anything, for the rest of the night. Simply goes to sleep without another word.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with a slutty non-House member; Troye confesses everything to Phil; the "weird" foursome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no sex in this one, mostly exposition and silliness. But I swear I'll make it up to you! Please keep reading!!!!

Dan

It takes me nearly an hour to wake up on Saturday morning. Doesn’t help that Phil’s already out of bed, dressed, and gone downstairs to have breakfast. Makes me feel like such an underachiever. But damn if our fuck last night wasn’t a bit, er…active. On my part, at least. I think I must have pulled half a dozen muscles. That makes me wonder if I shouldn’t be getting some regular exercise, like running or biking.  
Nah. I get enough exercise during sex, thank you very much.  
Eventually I get enough of my shit together to pull myself out of bed and make it to the bathroom. A piss and a face wash later, I’m ready to…go back to bed. But I refuse to let myself do it. Phil would have my head. So I saunter downstairs in my pajamas to see who’s up and what’s going on.  
Unfortunately, when I reach the dining room, I’m greeted by the sight of a petite, dark-haired young woman leaning over the back of the seat where my boyfriend is sitting, her arms around his neck as he tries in vain to eat his cereal. He fusses at her to knock it off, but she just giggles and squeezes him tighter.  
I sigh heavily and shuffle over to them, startling the girl when I grab her arm and tug. “Oi, Alinity,” I say sharply, and she spins her head around to look up at me. “Do you mind letting go of my boyfriend? He’s trying to eat.”  
She instantly drops her arms from around him and takes a step back. I continue giving her the evil eye until she backs up further, then duck my head lower to place a small peck on his cheek.  
“You’ve gotta be more firm,” I tell him. “Otherwise she’ll just do whatever the hell she wants.” I take a seat beside him and ask over my shoulder, “What’re you doing here anyway? Where’s your friend?”  
“Tana is upstairs,” Alinity answers. “She is still getting dressed.”  
“Well, then, shouldn’t you be up there with her?” I ask pointedly. “We’re allowed to have mates over, yeah, but you’re not exactly allowed to go roaming the house on your own. There are people here who are working on projects, or preferring to be alone.”  
“Oh, Dan,” she sighs heavily, as if her pouting is some kind of attractive quality. “You always want to spoil my fun.”  
“I mean it,” I insist, turning to her to try and show her how serious I am. “If Phil or I had friends on campus who visited, we wouldn’t just leave them to wander around.”  
As if to prove my point, Felix comes down the stairs at that moment with Jack right behind him. I point to them and exclaim, “See? Jackie’s right beside Felix! Hey wait, why is he still here?” I ask, tilting my head to the side when it occurs to me that Jack was supposed to have left last night with Mark.  
But my question is interrupted when the two notice Alinity hanging around me and Phil. Immediately, when she catches sight of the Irishman, Alinity grins widely and waves, calling, “Jaaaaaackieeeeee…”  
He yelps and literally jumps into Felix’s arms. Felix is as startled as Jack seems, but automatically catches his friend, if a bit awkwardly.  
“Oh shit!” Jack squeaks. “What’s she doin’ here!?”  
I roll my eyes. “Hopefully getting ready to go.”  
“Actually, yes,” she answers haughtily. “Tana and I are going shopping. But what the hell is wrong with him? C’mon, Jackie, you remember me, don’t you?”  
Felix has since tried to drop his friend to the ground, but Jack is insistent and won’t let go, stammering, “Uhhh, of course I remember you, Alinity, ummm…but you see, dear, what I haven’t told you is…uh…I’m gay!” he suddenly grins, and grabs Felix by the chin to turn him to himself, slamming a rather unpleasant, cringe-worthy kiss right on the mouth. When he lets go, Felix looks mortified, but to his credit he doesn’t drop Jack on his ass right there and then. He simply looks green.  
“See?” Jack announces proudly, squeezing Felix in his arms. “So you see, I wouldn’t be interested in your advances, though it’s much appreciated, darling, really!”  
Alinity sighs and pouts around at all four of us. “You’re ALL gay? God, what does Tana see in living here anyway?”  
“We honestly don’t know,” I deadpan, holding my head in my hands.  
Felix is a true friend; he keeps holding the small-ish Irishman in his own skinny arms until a moment later when Tana comes downstairs to collect her leech, and the two of them leave to go find some more likely revealing clothing – who cares, let em wear leaves for all I’d notice. But as soon as they’re gone, Felix’s hold on Jack evaporates and the smaller man stumbles to the floor with a yelp.  
“Ow! My arse!”  
I tilt my head to the side and smile, glancing at Phil. “Funny – you said the same thing this morning.”  
Phil glares at me but says nothing.  
I turn back to the other two, asking, “So where’s Mark? Isn’t he your ride?”  
Jack is rubbing his sore bum as he gets to his feet but answers, “I fell asleep early last night so he left me. Felix said he’d give me a ride home. Much as I’m terrified of his driving, I think we all agree that Mark’s is worse…”  
Felix and I nod our acknowledgment.  
“So I thought, well, good thing he left me. I’d still be up with motion sickness if he’d woken me up last night to go home.”  
Felix makes a face and wipes at his mouth once more, muttering, “Yeah, lucky you. Now Alinity thinks I’m gay.”  
“Oh, who cares?” I chuckle, waving his concern away. “It’s just Alinity. I’m sure other straight guys on campus would understand if you told them. Getting away from that fleabag of STI’s would definitely warrant change of orientation.”  
“So Marzia won’t think less of me?”  
Phil and I glance at each other, rolling our eyes simultaneously.  
“What?” he pushes.  
“Felix,” Phil cuts in, “would you just take Marzia out on a date already? I think she’s been waiting for you to ask her out for half a year now.”  
Felix pauses, a sly grin growing on his face. “You really think so?”  
“Yes!” the rest of us answer in unison.  
“Hm…I shall ponder this new piece of precious information you have bestowed upon the Felix, and I shall—“  
“Drive me home,” Jack cuts in sternly,   
Felix lurches back from him. “I am NOT going home with you! The gay thing was just a cover! Please don’t make me kiss you again, sir!”  
Jack stares at him dully for a long moment, then reaches up and swats Felix over the head. Without a word, he grabs the Swede by the shirt collar and drags him toward the back door in the kitchen.  
There’s a short pause, and then suddenly the doorway to the kitchen is taken up by a tall, dark figure with messy dark hair and a concerned expression.  
Great. So we trade two foreign freaks for a homegrown one. Well, I suppose it couldn’t get any worse. I’ve seen less appealing faces at eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning.  
“Hi, uh, Louise let me in,” Jacob explains as he comes into the dining room. He genuinely looks worried. “Um, have you seen Troye?” He holds up his phone. “I was supposed to come over today, but he texted me not long ago saying he can’t see me. Do you know what’s going on?”

Phil  
I’m as baffled as Dan and Jacob are when Dan returns from Troye’s room, saying the kid doesn’t look good but wouldn’t talk to him. He wasn’t mean about it, Dan insists, just…awkward. Timid. Jacob and I both try to laugh that off as the kid’s normally shy self, but Dan shakes his head, peering at us warily as he hazards, “No, something’s off. I mean, like, more than usual. He asked to see Phil. I told him you were here, Jacob, and he basically went white as a sheet. Which, for him, is an accomplishment – that kid gets anymore pale, he’ll be vying with Phil for least amount of color in one’s skin in this house. No, something is definitely…strange.”  
“So he wants to talk to me, specifically?” I ask.  
Dan shrugs, gesturing to me. “I didn’t suggest anything, he named you all on his own.”  
Interesting. Even when he knew Jacob – the love of his life – is right here? Dan’s right; this is downright eerie.  
So of course I head up as quickly as possible.  
I knock on the door, but start to open it before Troye can answer. I find him sitting in the nearly pitch-black room, except for his own lamp set to dim beside his bed. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, holding a pillow between his legs, clutching half of it to his chest. Even though it’s almost November, he’s still only wearing a small crop top and boy shorts to bed, and at the moment he doesn’t even have his sheet or blankets around him. I’m glad to see Logan isn’t around, probably got up early to go lift weights in the basement gym or something.  
Maybe it’s personal preference, but how can anyone find muscles like that to be attractive? Eh, whatever. To each his own. Or her own.  
“Hi,” I say softly, stepping into the room as if it were one in the morning instead of one in the afternoon.  
“Hi,” comes the small voice from the bed.  
“Dan said you wanted to see me?”  
He nods faintly and I close the door behind me, taking a seat on the bed a few feet away from him. But when he starts speaking, his voice is so quiet that I have to shift closer in order to hear him, until I’m almost right beside him at the head. And at this closer proximity, I notice something Dan failed to catch – he may be pale everywhere else, but his eyes are red all around. Like he’s been crying for hours.  
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he says, “but I don’t know who else to talk to. You were the first person I could think of that I trust.”  
I shake my head, waving that away. “You’re no bother, Troye. We’re just concerned, you know? So what’s going on?”  
He inhales deeply, letting it out a few moments later shakily. He can’t seem to meet my gaze, but he manages to start talking. “Something happened last night. Something bad. I don’t know what, I don’t know how or who did it, but I just know... I-I can’t…I can’t remember. I kept blacking out from the drinking, but by now, even all the shit that happened when I would wake up – it’s just…gone. I’ve no clue what went on. But I do have a sliver of a clue as to what it might have been. It’s far-fetched, I can’t explain it all, but it’s the closest thing I’ve got to a reason that I feel the way I do. But before I can tell you that, I have something else I need to get off my chest. It kind of leads up to my explanation, but mostly I just…I need to tell someone, and I don’t know who else I would tell but you.”  
“What about Jacob?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. He’s been so close to the guy these last several months, I would’ve thought he’d want to talk to HIM first. But if he needs me, of course I’m going to listen.  
“Jacob is…more emotional,” he says, trying to pick his words carefully. He gasps and holds out a hand. “Not that you aren’t! You’ve got lovely emotions and you express them well.”  
I chuckle and wave it away. “It’s okay, Troye. I know what you meant.”  
“I just mean, um, negative emotions. He might go overboard if I said anything, even if there’s nothing a beating would do here.”  
I squint at him. “A beating?”  
“Yeah, like…beating someone up…”  
I shake my head at him, not understanding.  
Thankfully, he draws in another breath and starts on a new track, though his voice quivers through most of it. “I started going out to gay clubs when I was sixteen. I had a fake ID and got in with some question because I looked even younger than I do now – I dunno, I just somehow look younger with brown hair than the blond. But anyway, they let me in. I had a couple of friends who were basically allies, who were willing to take me. They were who I got the ID from, actually. It was no big deal at first. There were a couple of clubs where we’d go frequently and ended up getting to know some of the drag queens, some of the regulars. We’d just go and dance and get into the music, whatever.  
“Then I heard of a few other clubs and wanted to go, and my friends were reluctant, but they finally gave in a few times. Once I learned where the clubs were, I let them off the hook because these places were a bit more…seedy, a bit more into guys going there to, well, get together. I started going alone, in secret. I’d go in and there were loads of guys there, just waiting to make out with whoever walked through the door. So I took advantage and I, um…” He hesitates, pressing his lips together, and ducked his head low. “Basically, I kind of became a bit of a slut, I guess you could say. In a way. Without actually having sex, I’d go there just to get off with someone.”  
I nod my head for him to go on. He may not realize it, but I’m pretty sure we all have our own little stories we don’t want to divulge to others. So his might be a bit grittier than others’. Still doesn’t mean there aren’t things we don’t talk about on a daily basis.  
He goes on, “They had these little rooms in the backs of the clubs where guys could go to be alone. I’d inevitably end up in one of them with one or two guys at a time, just…fucking around. But I never…I never went all the way with anyone. Handjobs, blowjobs, some, um…. light bondage sometimes…but never…IT. Until one time, when I was seventeen…”  
He trails off, his gaze wandering to the side as it seems he’s searching for what to say. I wait patiently for him to go on, and after swallowing hard, he does, though the tremor in his voice is stronger and I swear his eyes fill with new tears.  
“There was this older guy, must’ve been close to forty, and he was really well-known around those places. Apparently had almost every other guy in every single club. I didn’t pay much attention, didn’t really care, wasn’t interested. But after a while, I realized that I’d run into him every single time I went out. Like, HE was keeping track of ME. Some of the other regulars caught wind of it too and told me he was interested. But I REALLY was not at all interested in him. I preferred guys around my own age – or, at least, the age my ID said I was. But I still kept running into him, over and over again. He’d try to grind up on me on the dancefloor, he’d buy me a drink and I’d just walk away after. I think he got the message that I just wasn’t into it.  
“Then one night, he cornered me, really high on something, really pissed off, and he just kept demanding why I didn’t want him. I tried to explain, but my indifference just seemed to drive him crazy. I agreed to dance with him, just to get him off my back, so to speak. He was really grabby and turned it into a makeout session in the middle of the dancefloor, which, okay, wasn’t really that uncommon, but I kept trying to get further away from him. I didn’t know why he was so fixated on me. Until it was a little quiet between songs, and he whispered in my ear that he wanted to, like…um…be my first. Somehow, he just knew that I was still…well, you know. And for some reason, it got him off to think he could be the one to do it. I tried to get away from him then, because as much as I fooled around with other guys, I just wasn’t ready for…that…yet. But he was a fit bastard, and he practically just scooped me up and took me to the back rooms. He was, like, a god in these places, so when he went back there and said he wanted a room for himself, everyone else left without a word.  
“And that’s what happened. One night, he just took me, and…he did whatever he wanted. He didn’t exactly hurt me permanently or anything, and he didn’t really beat me up – he was too strong for that. All he had to do was hold me down. And that was it. That’s how I lost my virginity. To some dude with a hard-on for virgins.”  
“So…you lost it…to rape,” I paraphrase, thinking I’m being clever to sum it up like that.  
Instead, he cringes, looking like he’s in actual physical pain. But he doesn’t deny it. He actually nods, albeit vaguely. “I guess…yeah…I didn’t trust many people after that, obviously. I stopped going out. I didn’t care about meeting guys. I just holed up in my room at home and waited until I could get away from there. I dove into my music and just worked on that, non-stop, until I could come here and work on it some more. To be honest, I was even reluctant to take the modeling job when Jacob suggested it, purely because it had something to do with sex appeal, and I was just afraid of that word. But it was Jacob, and he was really rooting for me, and for the first time since those club days, I actually started to feel an attraction to someone. That was a whole other scary situation, but that’s not why I’m scared right now.”  
I peer at him closely, just as he tries to avoid my gaze. But I’m persistent. “Scared? What are you scared of, Troye?”  
He stifles a soft sob, holding a hand to his mouth, and once he regains control of himself, he admits, “The thing is…I remember what it felt like, the day after that guy…did that.”  
I study his eyes for a moment, seeing all the pain that still resides in there. “You can’t even say it,” I note.  
He sniffles and looks upward, as if gathering strength, and then falteringly goes on, “After he…r-raped me. I remember vaguely what my body felt like. That’s kind of what I feel like right now. It’s not quite the same as a hangover, I know what those feel like. But this…I don’t know why, I don’t know how or when or where or who or what, but it’s just…so similar. Just aching, all over. Maybe I’m wrong and it’s just some kind of bug, but I really feel off about this…I just have these really blurred, unreal, intangible memories about last night, and none of them are good. The thing is, I didn’t know who else I could talk to about it besides you. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t see Jacob, not like this, not now.”  
I sigh heavily, reaching out for a hand. After a few moments’ hesitation, he lets me take one, and I squeeze it gently.  
“Troye, Jacob is so worried about you. You should see him down there, he looks a right mess, really. I think he came over as soon as he got your text about not feeling right. He’s really concerned, Troye. He truly cares. Do you really want to shut him out right now, when you might need him most?”  
He slinks his hand back and covers his face, peeking out between his fingers. “But…what will he think of me?” he asks breathlessly. “I mean…one time is bad enough, but if something really did happen to me last night, what the hell does that say about me? What will he think of me for getting myself into that kind of situation TWICE?”  
I lean in closer to him, giving him a stern look. “Hey – don’t you talk like that about yourself! What happened to you before, what might have happened last night – none of it was your fault, you hear me? You didn’t `get yourself into it,’ sick people took advantage of you! And what will Jacob think? Well, he damn well better just think that he needs to be there for his boyfriend! That’s all he needs to think about.”  
He closes the gaps between his fingers and presses his fingertips against his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears; he’s unsuccessful, and he sniffs harshly before heaving, “But I could’ve done so much to stop it—“  
“No,” I remind him, sliding up to his side and putting an arm around his shoulders. “You couldn’t have. The bastard who hurt you before was stronger than you. And whatever happened last night – we’ll figure it out. But no matter what, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t ever blame yourself for other people’s lack of self-control. I’m not gonna let you feel bad about this.”  
Shaking against me, he nods, resting his head on my shoulder as he drops his hands to his knees limply.  
“Look,” I urge him, “I’ll help you get dressed and we’ll go downstairs, okay? You can see Jacob—“  
“B-But—“  
“Trust me,” I assure him, “you’ll want to. And when you’re feeling okay about it, maybe we can figure out a way to jog your memory. Figure out what happened last night.”  
He winces, but finally nods.  
Gosh. I never reckoned I’d make a decent OLDER brother. But I think I’m getting the hang of it.

Alec  
When I leave my room around two o’clock, I’m greeted by the strangest sight I think I never thought I’d see: three of the housemates plus Jacob sitting at the dining room table, picking at cold pizza and chatting. But they are not arranged in the way I would expect them to be.  
Phil and Jacob are sat hunched over one large shared piece of pizza, Jacob picking the cheese off and eating it plain, while Phil eats the breaded part. And the weird part is, they’re feeding each other.  
On the other hand, there’s Dan and Troye; Troye is sitting on Dan’s lap, one arm hooked around his neck while Dan shows him something on his laptop.  
I shake my head a few times, not registering this combination properly, until Phil glances up at me and smiles.  
“Afternoon, Alec. Think you ate some funny mushrooms?”  
“Uh, yeah,” I say slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Don’t tell me you guys are doing some kinda swap…”  
Phil chuckles but only shakes his head.  
Jacob turns to me, offering me another slice of pizza. “Want some? It’s past lunchtime.”  
I hold up a hand to refuse. “Um, why is Troye in Dan’s lap?”  
Troye looks up at me and smiles. “I’m hanging out with my daddy today.”  
I cringe. “Don’t…EVER…call him that again.”  
“We’ve decided,” Troye goes on happily, “Dan is my daddy, Phil is my mommy, and Jacob is my hubby. Since, you know, my family’s all the way in Australia, this is how it’s gonna be from now on.”  
“That’s right,” Jacob agrees, and leans back to give him a peck on the lips before turning back to peeling the cheese off the pizza between him and Phil.  
I blink hard and shake my head again. “Whatever, man. You guys are weird.”  
“Yeah,” Phil cuts in. “We’re the weird ones. So how old is your boyfriend again, Alec?”  
I clear my throat and head into the kitchen, answering only, “A lady never tells.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the hospital; Jacob comforts Troye; Troye makes a creepy discovery.

Jacob

I stare down at our joined hands in the dim backseat of my car, not even noticing the scenery of trees and small buildings covered in shadow going by outside the window. His head is resting on my shoulder, his breathing so light I swear he could be sleeping. But I know he’s not. Because of the tension in that hand, how tightly he’s gripping me. I’m only grateful that he’s comfortable enough by now to be this close to me. The car ride three hours ago had been much different. He’d crammed himself on the other side of the seat so far I thought he’d try to pull the handle and jump out of the car. Our hands had still been joined, but his arm had stretched across the seat and he’d stared out the window the entire time, unwilling to even look at me. Now, though, it’s as if my embrace is the only thing he craves.  
When Phil had returned from Troye’s room almost half an hour later to announce that we needed to get Troye to the hospital, my heart nearly seized in my chest. I knew he said he didn’t feel “right,” but I had no idea it was an actual health reason.  
Then Phil explained to me and Dan WHY, and I very nearly did have a heart attack. I felt sick. Terrified. But, I had to remind myself, probably nothing like what Troye was feeling right now. But he didn’t feel ready to go yet, Phil said. He had convinced him to get dressed and come down (with his sleepwear, just in case the hospital might need it, even though Troye confessed he woke up naked), but even then Troye wasn’t sure about going. So we stayed with him. Just the four of us. Trying to act as normal as possible so he wouldn’t feel so awkward. He had a hard time meeting my eyes, and though all I wanted to do was grab him and make him feel safe, I knew I couldn’t yet. So I let him gravitate toward Dan, sit on his lap, distract himself with the laptop. I felt hopeful when he still referred to me as his “hubby,” albeit jokingly, but he wasn’t nearly as affectionate with me as he usually is. So with Phil’s hushed whispers to me to stay calm and let Troye make the first moves, I held on for a long time, almost holding my breath as I waited.  
It wasn’t until around three o’clock, when Phil himself softly suggested we head out, that Troye finally gave in. And it wasn’t until we piled into my car, with Dan driving, that Troye silently reached out a hand for mine. The ride there was mostly filled with Phil giving tips on what to do and not to do while there, reading from his phone on the procedures while urging Troye to make sure he told them everything he could – even though, Troye reminded him, he couldn’t remember anything past his last shot. Not even how he’d gotten home. He sounded pretty flat and emotionless to me, but when I dared to glance over at his turned face, I caught him wiping at his cheeks every few moments.  
I just wanted to hold him…  
The four of us sat together in the waiting room of the ER, and while Phil kept trying to assure him things would be fine and just “tell them everything you can,” Dan started snapping at him to back off already. The two bickered among themselves for a bit, and I finally noticed that Troye was glancing at me with a wry smirk, like a kid whose parents were always arguing and wasn’t it just so ridiculous?  
I turned all my attention on him then, and he averted his gaze, his smile disappearing. And when I saw his face fall like that, I knew that, for all the good he meant by it, Phil was just wrong about this. I should’ve followed my gut after all, since I probably knew Troye the best here. So I inched closer to him and tapped his fingers with the backs of my own, offering him my hand silently. He hesitated, but finally gave in and took it. I could feel him trembling as he did. So a moment later I slid my arm around his shoulders, taking a massive leap of faith. And he didn’t pull away. He didn’t curl into me like he usually does, but he didn’t pull away, and that was a huge step.  
And when he was finally called back, he leaned in to me to ask, “Will you come with me?”  
I was on my feet in a second, still holding onto his hand as we walked side-by-side into the triage room. In fact, my arm was still around him, and by now I was practically holding him up. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief, knowing things were going to be okay, when the nurse asked him my identity and if he was sure he wanted me there.  
“He’s my boyfriend,” he answered, sounding calmer than he had all day, “and yes, definitely.”  
She warned there were going to be multiple tests and procedures that he or I may have felt uncomfortable with, and gave me one more chance to back out. But I felt his grasp on my hand still, and knew I couldn’t live with myself if I left then. I could close my eyes. I could look away. I could do anything except leave him. So I stayed.  
To her credit, the nurse hadn’t been lying. For the most part, I stayed focused on Troye, on his face and our joined hands, toying with his hair and brushing his cheek with my fingers gently whenever things got to be a bit much, too painful or too embarrassing. I made sure he saw my eyes locked on his, that I was there with him the entire time. It seemed to be a comfort for him. He explained what he could to the doctor who treated him. He took in instructions like he was really paying attention; I think he was too shaken not to. Especially when, not even a few moments into the exam, the doctor confirmed that Troye had been right – he had definitely been assaulted, and they would be taking samples and assessing the damage, etc. I wanted to hug him immediately, because there had been a little doubt before, just a little. But when the doctor confirmed his fear, it was like his heart shattered and tears welled up in his eyes. But I couldn’t touch him, besides my hold on his hand. Not yet anyway.  
The only time I absolutely had to let go of him was when they had to take pictures. It was frightening, but during the exam, the nurse and I had both noticed some bruising that I hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t too obvious, but under the harsh lights of the exam room, the light brown coloring really stood out on his typically pale white skin. While the nurse took the photos, I stood aside and bit my thumbnail, secretly fuming inside.  
Someone had tried to strangle him. It was evident on his throat. And nearly perfect hand-shaped markings on one upper arm. That had to have been one fierce grip to leave behind those bruises. But the thought of someone choking him…well, it must have been terrifying for him, seeing as he hadn’t even noticed them himself; I know it boiled my blood. The nurse checked him over more thoroughly for more, which made Troye turn red with embarrassment, but we’d both known something like this could have happened. Thankfully there were no more, but when I returned to his side to take his hand again, I had to keep myself in check to stop trembling with fury.  
I brushed some tears away from his cheeks, I whispered that he would be okay. But inside, I was raging. Who had hurt my baby? Who and why? I wanted to know, I needed to know, if for no other reason than to maim the bastard. But I stayed calm and in control, because it would have been stupid to demand answers from the doctor, and also because I was there for Troye, not his attacker. Having to make a choice, I obviously chose staying by his side for comfort rather than going after some stranger for revenge.  
That would come later, I thought morbidly…  
Once the exams and tests were over, I stood there next to a fully dressed Troye and, while he stared into space, just trying to stay calm, it seemed, I listened intently to the doctor’s instructions, asking for specifics, making sure we were set to leave when they finally discharged him. I took the medicine they prescribed and carried it for him, we handed over the bag of clothing he last had on for testing “just in case,” and I led him back out into the waiting room.  
But aside from the pictures, never once did I stop holding his hand. It was just as much of a comfort to me as it seemed to be for him.  
By the time we found Dan and Phil again, they were nearly passed out on each other. But as soon as they saw us, they sat up, woke up, and listened while I stepped in for Troye and told them briefly what had happened. Dan looked half pained and half furious; Phil looked sympathetic and worried.  
“We figured it was something like that when you didn’t come back out after a while,” he confessed, then explained that they’d gotten dinner across the street a while ago before coming back here, where they remained for two more hours.  
Troye was too pale and shaky to say or do anything, but I assured them he was definitely grateful for their help and support. Troye nodded faintly, then asked in barely a whisper if we could go home. I wasn’t sure if Logan would be around to kick out of the room, but I already knew that I was staying with him, for as long as he wanted me around. Phil wondered if we shouldn’t go to the police next, but Troye just shook his head, reminding him tearfully that he didn’t know who he would be trying to turn in.  
Reluctantly, Phil agreed that the next best option would be to head home. He didn’t seem completely on board – hell, I knew how he felt. But Troye had a point. If he hadn’t even been sure if it had happened until the doctor confirmed it, how the hell would he begin with who had done this to him? So we went back out to the car instead.  
Which brings me back to now, and my certainty that I’m not going anywhere else tonight, with how he’s leaning against me in the car, squeezing my hand and lifting them to his eyes, as if he’s never held hands with anyone through the pain of it all. I whisper to him that I’ll make sure we’ll have the room tonight, to which he shakes his head, shrugs, then presses his head further into my shoulder. As if saying it doesn’t matter where we are, as long as I’m with him. And that, to me, is a hell of a lot. He NEEDS me. He doesn’t just want me there, he NEEDS me. And I refuse to let him down.  
Sure enough, when we pull into the back parking lot, Troye lifts his head a little and whispers to me, “Will you…stay with me tonight?”  
I give his hand a squeeze and dare to kiss the top of his head. “Of course. Anything you need.”

I soon regret saying “anything.”  
Leaving his bedside lamp on, we manage to lay down together, still fully dressed, and get comfortable on our sides, facing each other, and I can tell he’s exhausted from the whole ordeal. I’m sure he’s going to fall asleep at any moment, and feeling how hard he holds me when he wraps his arms around my torso and rests his head beside my chest, I’m not surprised when he does drift off within minutes. I rub his back comfortingly, stroke his hair, kiss the top of his head and forehead. And eventually the tension in his tiny body eases and he’s able to sleep. That in turn helps me fall asleep a little easier. But it doesn’t stay that way.  
I’m awakened not an hour later to the feeling of gentle fingers on my bare chest and a soft whisper. I open my eyes to find that he’s unbuttoned my shirt partway and is tapping on my chest, whispering my name in between placing chaste little kisses on my skin. At first it seems like a dream – certainly one I’ve had before, believe me. But when reality sinks in and I recall where I am and why, I lift my head and look down at him.  
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, as if there’s someone else in the room to disturb.  
But he keeps his own voice low as well, so I don’t feel so silly. He places another kiss on my chest, closer to my throat, and I feel him slipping his legs through mine, entwining them despite the layers of jeans between them.  
“Jacob,” he whispers back, “please…” And he’s suddenly sliding his hands under my shirt, drawing his fingertips up my back enticingly. “Please…”  
Confused, I tilt my head down further, trying to get a good look at his face. But he’s burying it against my chest, pulling me against him urgently.  
“What’re you trying to—“  
He suddenly lifts his head, capturing my lips in a deep, desperate kiss. And for just a moment, I lose myself in it. His insistent kiss, the feeling of his tongue in my mouth again, his hands caressing my skin and his message very obvious…  
“Please,” he whispers against my lips, “Jacob…make love to me again…like you did before…” But his voice sneaks in and cracks slightly, reminding me of the situation.  
I can already feel myself growing hard from his ministrations, but my logic and care are winning out, and I shake my head.  
“No,” I whisper, though I kiss him back chastely. When he tries to push further, I pull away slightly, reaching to grip his arms and slip his hands out from under my shirt. “It won’t take long, but you need to heal first—“  
There’s a breathless sob and then he’s grasping my shirt with clenched fists. “Please… It doesn’t have to be long, we can use that numbing gel—“  
“The anesthetic?”  
“Yeah, I’ll use that, just please—“  
“Troye, I can’t,” I insist. “I won’t. Not yet. Give it some time…”  
And then he’s pressing his face into my chest – not to kiss me, but to stifle the body-wracking sob he lets out, and then he’s crying, literally crying, “I need this…I need to feel normal again, just please do this, just once…”  
But I merely embrace him and shake my head. “No, sweetness, not yet.”  
And when I try to kiss the top of his head again, he ducks suddenly, another sharp sob shaking him, and his fists pull at my shirt in frustration.  
“I’m s-sorry,” he weeps, and I can feel the tears on my chest. “I’m so…so sorry…”  
Fuck, does it break my heart to hear him say it. I rub his back and assure him, “It’s okay, I understand – you just want to feel like yourself again, I get it—“  
“I’m s-sorry,” he keeps sobbing, over and over again, until I finally realize what he means.  
I sit up in bed, dragging him with me, and pull him close, kissing him deeply, if only to keep him from apologizing again. When I break away, I keep my face right by his, our noses just barely touching.  
“Don’t you dare apologize,” I whisper to him. “You did nothing wrong here. What you were wearing, how much you were drinking, if you were alone or with friends – NONE of that matters. You didn’t ask for this. NO ONE asks for this. You – did – nothing – wrong.” I cup his face in my hands and lift it just enough to see the tears on his cheeks. I gingerly wipe them away with my thumbs. “All right? No more sorry. You’re not the one who needs to say that.”  
He looks like he wants to nod, but all he can do is bow his head, unable to look me in the eye. And in the most haunting, despondent voice, he confesses, “I just want to die.”  
It feels like he’s just punched me in the throat. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him back down onto the bed, lost for words myself. When I’m finally able to breathe again, I warn him, “I won’t let you. I’ll be stuck to your side for as long as it takes to make sure you don’t do that. Promise me you won’t. Troye? PROMISE me.”  
There’s a long sigh, and he moans as if he’s in pain, but finally I feel him nodding. “I promise.”  
I force his head up again to look him in the eye, making him repeat it when I’m able to see the deep blue of his irises.  
I can’t say I’m not scared. I can’t say I believe him entirely. But it’ll have to suffice for now, and I’ll just have to trust him. And the most I can do, I do: I tell him I love him, and kiss him. Several times, until he’s in something of a trance and lays with me while his weary eyes close. And only after he’s been asleep for almost an hour can I allow myself the luxury of enough comfort to rest as well.

Troye

I didn’t want him to leave. Not really.  
But when Sunday night rolled around and reality sunk in, I knew I’d have to let him go. I really want him here with me, always, but I know that just can’t be. And if I let him, he would stay. But after some prodding, I finally get out of him that he has some school work left to do back at the dorms. So, after spending the whole night and most of Sunday just lazing around in bed with me, he admits that it would be best for him to go back, if only for one night.  
I’ve taken up so much of his time already, and for no real reason either. All we do on Sunday, besides sneaking downstairs to get food twice, and trips to the bathroom, is lay around in bed, cuddling and testing to see how far things can go before I start feeling weird and have to pull back. I manage to make it pretty far eventually, but it’s already dark outside when I’m able to let him kiss me again. So yes, I insist that he go back to the dorms to actually get some work done.  
But now that he’s gone, it’s gotten so quiet, so still. Enough so that I feel uncomfortable and even turn Logan’s bedside lamp on, though I don’t want to deal with the harsher light of the overhead bulb. I simply lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, half trying to fall asleep and half trying to recall anything at all from Friday night. I don’t want to think about it, really, but my mind just keeps going back to that night, telling me I should at least remember something. This has been one of the worst situations of my life – including the night I lost my virginity, but at least then I knew who I could blame, I knew what had happened. Some may say it might be better off that I don’t remember this time, but not knowing is exactly what is driving me crazy.  
I’m so lost in my own thoughts that the small thumping coming from Logan’s side of the room doesn’t even register with me at first. I don’t know how long it goes on for, but finally, it reaches my ears and sinks into my brain, and it bothers me. Nothing violent, really, but just annoying. A gentle, sporadic bumping, sometimes a bit of a scrape. I finally look over to see what the hell is happening and find a medium-sized white moth madly trying to get at the light inside Logan’s lamp.  
I smirk to myself. No idea how the bloody thing got in here, as we have no windows, but it must have gotten in while I was walking Jacob downstairs to leave. This is a pretty old house with lots of cracks and crevices; I’m not surprised it got into the house itself, just into one of the inner rooms. I smile a little bit, wondering if I should catch it and throw it at Dan; he absolutely loathes moths. But no, I think I’ll just catch the bugger and take it outside. Though I’m not crazy about insects in general, I still have a hard time even killing a nasty-looking spider.  
Well, okay. A nasty-looking spider, or a cockroach from back in Australia, one of those huge fuckers that flies and freaks people out – maybe I don’t mind that so much. But in general…  
I have no cups in the room, so I have to rely on my own hands and an incredible amount of accuracy and speed to do this. I slowly sit up and push myself off the bed, following the flappy thing with my eyes the whole time. Of course moths don’t have any kind of pattern, so there’s no telling where it’s going to go, so I wait a bit as I stand in the tiny space just between Logan’s bed and his bedside table. The thing disappears inside the lamp, fluttering around and making a god-awful amount of noise against the lampshade, before finally emerging from beneath.  
My hand shoots out and captures it in one swift gesture, trapping it against the wall. And damn, am I good – one attempt and I’ve got it. Though it’s a little low and I have to crouch down to maneuver my other hand around it before it can sneak through my fingers to get away again. And in that awkward maneuvering, my elbow catches the side of one of Logan’s pillows, pushing it a few inches downward. A second later I hear a slap on the floor, and I roll my eyes. Leave it to Logan to hide some kind of disgusting porn mag under his freaking pillow. I ignore it for a moment so I can get the moth in a loose but still sealed cage between my hands. I smile a little when I feel its soft wings fluttering against my fingers, and I whisper to it to calm down, I’ll let it go soon…  
But I trail off (yes, I was actually speaking out loud to a moth…) when I try to rise from my crouched position and something catches my attention from the corner of my eye. I glance down at what fell from under Logan’s pillow and am confused when I don’t see a magazine at all. In fact, at first glance, it just looks like a small stack of glossy pictures. Which it is, I realize when I do a double-take. But what makes me stop cold is when I actually pay attention to the pictures themselves.  
Moth forgotten, let loose again to throw itself at the light between our two lamps, I lean down to scoop up the fallen stack of pictures. Blinking furiously, not wanting to believe what I’m seeing, I flip through some of them, any thought that I have no right to go through his things demolished when I actually see them. My hands begin to quiver, and I look away, swallowing hard when a faint memory – is it a memory? – surfaces, just vaguely. I can’t make out words, but just a voice, coming to me through layers of denial and fear.  
The door opens suddenly without a knock and Logan is standing there, demanding, “Okay, twink, you had your night to sulk with your boyfriend, it’s time I get my room back.”  
I spin around, nearly dropping the photographs on the floor, and stare at him, dumbfounded, as he takes in the image of me holding his possessions.  
“Hey!” he snaps, coming further into the room, while a confused Alinity hangs about in the doorway when she sees I’m still there. He stomps up to me and makes a grab for the pictures, but at the last second I shake myself and pull them against my chest before he can get to them.  
“What the fuck, man?” he nearly roars, holding out his hand. “Gimme my pictures!”  
I blink at him. “So…you admit that they’re yours?”  
He hesitates, and I lift them up so he can see them, but I keep them out of his reach.  
“What are these?” I ask innocently enough.  
He bites his lip, then blurts out, “They’re for a project, okay?”  
“A project?” I sputter incredulously. “You’re not a photographer, you’re a filmmaker! And these…” I flip through several shots, horrified at what I see. “These are of ME! What the f—am I ASLEEP? You took pictures of me while I was SLEEPING?!”  
Logan glances uncomfortably over his shoulder at his slut in the doorway, who looks a little confused as well.  
“W-Why?” I demand breathlessly. “Why would you DO that?!”  
He struggles to answer, then shrugs nonchalantly and offers only, “It was for a project.”  
“`Was’? Then why do you still have them?”  
“I always keep my work—“  
“UNDER YOUR PILLOW?!” My voice shoots up an octave, my hands visibly shaking now. “That’s just…you’re just sick, Logan!” I think about throwing the pictures at him, but I know better – I clutch them to my chest, especially when he tries to snatch them out of my fingers.  
“You can’t keep my work from me! Give ‘em back!”  
“You’re such a liar and you know it!” I exclaim, backing away from him until I bump into the nightstand. “This wasn’t a project! This was for YOU!”  
He scoffs at that. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess, I ain’t interested…”  
And I flip to a particularly disturbing shot, where my shorts are dangerously low and my nightshirt pulled up high, the strap over my shoulder slung down my arm. “That’s not intentional?” I snap at him. “Making me look like that? I do NOT sleep like that – especially not without a sheet! YOU did this, Logan! On purpose!”  
He steps up to me finally and grabs a wrist, yanking me to him in a fury. “But I didn’t say I enjoyed it, did I?”  
“Doesn’t matter,” I retort, twisting my hand out of his grasp. “The fact is, you did it. And that’s all that matters.” And I try to walk past him.  
“Troye?” he calls in a warning tone as I head for the door. “Troye, where are you going? TROYE!”  
I push past the bewildered Alinity, not even offering an apology, and start for the stairs with the pictures still tucked safely against my chest.  
I don’t even hear him, only feel the hands around my throat as they clamp down and pull me backward into him. It hurts twice as much as it should, I suppose, because of the bruises already there, and I wince. But I don’t let go of the pictures. Instead, I grip them tighter.  
But once he’s got me trapped in his arms, I realize…something doesn’t feel right. In fact, my stomach is knotting up, and I know something is very wrong indeed.  
The way he snuck up behind me – that denial, that sneakiness, and then his hands on my throat…  
I somehow find enough strength in me to break out of his grasp, spinning around to him with huge eyes. He sees the look on my face and stops dead in his tracks, a worried expression growing on his own.  
“T-Troye…”  
I blink several times, stepping back from him several feet, my breath coming in short, shaky bursts.  
“Y-You…You didn’t just…”  
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Troye, listen to me – whatever you’re thinking? Just let it go, man. You’ve been through a lot this weekend, I know, I get it—“  
My eyes bug out at him. “And just who told you?!”  
“D-Dan did, last night, when he told me to stay the fuck outta my own room! He just said you had a bad night and needed time alone with Jacob. Not like I know what happened or anything--”  
“Liar!” I shout, holding up the pictures. “You’ve had it in for me this entire semester!”  
“Look, Troye,” he goes on, trying to play it cool now, “I don’t know anything, okay? He just said you had a rough night, and I can see you have bruises on your throat, so look, I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. But whatever you’re thinking I did – let it go, man. It ain’t me.”  
I shake the pictures at him. “And these?”  
“Were for a project! Like I keep saying! You’re just fucking…self-centered and paranoid. Vain little cunt.”  
That one actually stings. A lot. Maybe I am freaking out about too little. Maybe I am overreacting. And why would I try to accuse Logan? He’s straight – he doesn’t want me…  
The certainty inside me wavers and I lower the pictures. “S-Sorry…I just…” I shake my head, holding a hand to my forehead. “I’m not feeling well…”  
He sighs and holds his hand out. “Fine. Then give me back the pictures—“  
I snap my head up and say matter-of-factly, “Oh, I’m still taking these to Alec. But I’m sorry I tried to accuse you of something you didn’t do.”  
His face drops into mortification. “What? Come on, man!”  
I wave a hand at him dismissively and start heading to Alec’s room again. “I don’t care what project it was, Logan, you don’t take pictures of people while they sleep and then use them…HOWEVER you might use them. It’s just creepy.”  
“I put it off, okay?” he pleads, following me in his desperation. “I procrastinated and then I had no other subject—“  
“That would be fine, if the SUBJECT, which was ME, was not UNCONSCIOUS for it! That’s taking advantage of a vulnerable person, and that’s disgusting! And as your roommate, I don’t feel safe around you. Do you need more of an explanation?”  
He continues to follow me, badgering me the whole way, and when I take the staircase down to the first floor, I instinctively hold onto the railing a little more tightly than usual, just in case. Luckily he doesn’t try anything, just stands next to me in front of Alec’s door and pleads with me to rethink this. But I’ve already made up my mind. This is just plain disturbing. Especially after being so bloody homophobic around me.  
It’s almost as if he…maybe could have been…  
My thoughts are cut off when the door opens and Alec stands in front of me. I shove the pictures at him.  
“I’d like a new room. I don’t care where. The front room, the weight room, I’ll sleep in the bloody kitchen. Just please get me away from this pervert.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's having a bad night; Troye can relate. Recreational drug use.

Jack

Saturday night:

“Well, what the fuck was the point of having Felix drive me back to the dorms if we were just going to come back here tonight? It’s ridiculous! You could’ve told me we were gonna make a video! You stupid twat!”

I put a point on my statement by pelting Mark in the head with a piece of candy corn from the passenger seat of his car. I guess it’s not good to distract the driver, but I feel like grabbing the wheel and ditching us both, to be perfectly honest. How bloody stupid do you have to be to “forget” to tell your mate – friend and roommate – something like this? Apparently Mark paid off the administration for letting him into this university, because he’s not winning any intelligence points from me!

“All right already! I said I’m sorry, like, fifty times!” He’s doing a remarkable job of keeping an eye on the road when he should be tending to ME and my tantrum! So I kick his leg, sending us swerving around like mad for a total of two seconds. When he regains control of the car, Mark swings a fist at me and manages to nick the side of my arm. “Don’t DO that! You’re gonna get us killed!”

“That’s right! And if I go, I’m taking you down with me! Y’stupid cunt!”

No, but really, we’re actually the best of mates… I just feel suicidal with him on occasion. That’s all.

“I’m sorry I forgot to mention it!” he repeats, as if saying it again will make me forgive him. “I just wasn’t thinking. And yeah, otherwise you would’ve been content to hang out at the house and ogle all the pretty girls there.”

“Thank you! That’s all I’m asking for.”

“It’s the exact same thing I’ve been saying for the past ten minutes! Would you get the fuck over it, please!”

Maybe make that “homicidal.” But I just growl lowly in my throat and stuff some more candy corn in my mouth to keep from saying anymore. The dude’s bigger than me; I may be able to run circles around him with insults, but one punch from his meathook and I’d be down for the count. And I think I’ve been pushing his buttons ever since we got into the car.

By the time we get to the House, it’s long since gotten dark, and I just catch Phil slipping in through the back door. It must be near eight o’clock or not long after, and I feel like kicking Mark in the leg for waiting this long to truck us all the way back here. Not that it’s very far, really. Only a little over a mile. But interrupting my busywork to inform me we had to come back just started me on a whole big spiral downward, and now I just feel like hitting people.

Mark and I are invited in through the back door to the rather small kitchen by PJ, and while he’s ready to head upstairs immediately, he has to get Felix’s attention. The blond guy’s face looks about as morose as I feel, though his eyes are fixated on the empty doorway leading to the dining room, and when PJ tries to grab his shoulders to shake him, like rattling him out of a stupor, Felix looks uncharacteristically perturbed by it and throws PJ’s hands off of him, still scowling.

“Wait a sec, what’s going on?” I ask as the other two start towards the dining room. I focus on Felix, who hangs back a bit, but he just shakes his head somberly.

“Not a good vibe, man,” is all he says, and I try to match his words with PJ and Mark’s joint good moods. Unless he just picks up on my own irritation, but he was looking miserable when we first walked in. He notices me staring at him as we slowly make our way to the staircase, and just shakes his head as he glances up at the ceiling. “Just not a good vibe.”

I cock my head at him, gesturing to myself silently.

“No no, not you,” he assures me.

“You sure? Because I won’t hesitate to cut a bitch right now…”

He finally cracks a grin and only explains, “It’s not you, man. Housemates. Bad situation. Just not a good vibe.”

I think of Phil from earlier, scurrying to get himself and some other people inside – not sure who it was, but he didn’t seem to be up for getting caught by me and Mark for a chat. I just nod at Felix, letting it go for now. “I got it,” I assure him, and lead the way up to the second floor sitting room, where the console is already set up to the television and Mark is attempting to load up the first game while PJ checks on the camera.

Mark gives me a wry smirk as he hands me a controller. “You feel any better yet, princess?”

I snatch the controller away and growl, “Not even a little bit, bastard.”

Not three hours later, I storm out of the sitting room with the other three calling after me, either apologizing (Mark) or calling me names (Felix and PJ), names like “pussy,” “wanker,” and “sourpuss.” Names I can usually handle; they’re kids’ names, things children shout on the playground. But I’m just not having it tonight, and after Felix intentionally grabbed my controller and threw it across the room just because I was beating him, I snapped. The idiots were getting to me, and I needed a break.

So I slam the doors shut behind me before lunging down the staircase to get to the first floor. Once there, I decide to head out back to do my business. I’m so blinded by rage that I don’t even question if I’m alone or not once I’m outside, I simply glare up at the night sky and draw in a deep breath, then let it out – in a furious, loud, wordless yell, directed at nothing and meaning nothing, really. Just letting out the tension that’s built up inside of me. And it feels damn good to get it out. 

“Good one.”

I whirl around, more startled than I should be by the familiar gentle voice behind me.

Troye holds a lit cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, letting the smoke billow out around him as he asks, “Can you do one for me too? I can never seem to get that loud.”

I curse under my breath and wipe at my face, getting over the start and focusing on him instead. He’s sitting leaned against the red brick of the house on one of the slabs of concrete leading up to the back door, his knees pulled up to his chest, an oversized gray bathrobe draped around him. He looks extremely tired but, though his voice is as soft as it usually is, doesn’t sound weary.

I hesitate for a moment as he crushes out the rest of his smoke, raking my hands through my hair, and draw in a deep breath as I eye him up cautiously. I point to my shirt pocket. “You, ehm…You mind if I have one of mine?”

He shrugs. “Help yourself.”

I pull out one of the two joints I sneakily brought with me, since Mark springing this on me at the last minute had enraged me enough to even consider the idea that I might need one. I light up and take a deep hit, leaning back against the concrete, which reaches to about my waist. As I hold my breath, I hear a chuckle beside me.

“If I’d known it was THAT kind of smoke, I would’ve thought to ask for some,” he smiles, but even his smile looks run-down.

Normally I would automatically offer a friend that kind of thing, but at the moment, I’m a bit too wrapped up in my own issues. I take a second hit and gesture to him. “Why’re you out here? Logan driving you crazy?”

He shakes his head. “He’s asleep in the front room. Alec allowed me to have Jacob stay the night.”

I tilt my head to the side. “And Logan can’t sleep in his own bed?”

He hesitates, then admits, looking up at the sky, “Logan doesn’t want anything to do with…the whole thing. Or me. So he wouldn’t wanna look over and see that in his bedroom. Besides that, I think everyone’s trying to be extra careful with me.”

I squint at him. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

He turns back and eyes me up, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. “Gimme a hit and I’ll tell ya.”

I snicker at that, but after a moment’s consideration, I hold the joint out to him. “You’re welcome to it,” I assure him as he takes it from me and draws in a deep toke. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. I’ll tell YOU something, though, Mark and the others are gonna get a beating if I make it back up there to finish the game. You know they sprung this on me tonight? AFTER I’d already come back from here! I feel like I barely had any time at the dorm to get myself together for this week, and now we’re making a fucking video because the other three decided. And who asked Jack? Nobody!”

“Is that the reason for the…” He gestures to me after a few long seconds, letting the smoke seep through his lips and nose. “…the Herculean cry?”

I snicker at that, accepting the joint again and shaking my head. “Basically. Man, they drive me crazy. They’re my best mates, sure, but they can really bust my nuts sometimes.” I take another hit and gesture to him again. Surprisingly, the kid’s all about the shit and silently snags it back to take an awfully long drag. And doesn’t cough once. Must really want that weed. “Anyway,” I go on as I study him carefully, impressed with his…smoking abilities, “have you ever just had someone you loved even though they drive you insane?”

He pauses, tilts his head to the side, then shrugs. “Not exactly,” he strains around the smoke. “But I know what you mean.” He offers it back and I hold my hand up, already starting to feel the effects. Don’t want to go overboard just yet.

“But yeah, then they started raggin’ on me relentlessly and I…I just needed a break. Not to mention,” I blather on, not even keeping track of my own words by now, “I haven’t been with a woman in, like, a year or something. I think there’s something wrong with me! I think I’ve gotten so obsessed with these videos and with school and all these other things, I haven’t made any time for any kind of, like, romantic life. And I kind of miss that. I haven’t gotten laid in forever! Ask any of them, and they at least have an interest, like Felix and Marzia – nothing’s happened with them, so far as I know, but they at least flirt with each other. I dunno, maybe I just put women off with my desperation by now. I’m just so…LONELY. D’you know? I think I might be so sex-deprived, I might just make it with the cutest puppy I see next! I sure as hell have lost any kissing talent I once had – supposedly I was pretty decent at it, according to a couple of girls. But all of that’s out the window. I can’t even remember how to lick a lollipop!”

He tilts his head to the side and narrows his wide eyes at me. “Is that something you really forget?”

I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. I feel like I’m forgetting all kinds of things involving that shit. But anyway… I gave you the joint AND spilled my guts. How about you? Anything you feel like getting off your chest?”

He’s already holding in his third hit, and with this strong a weed, I’m even more impressed. There’s a moment of silence between us as he nods. But he doesn’t answer at first. Then he stares down at the joint as he slowly lets out the long stream of smoke.

Without looking up, he tells me in his quiet voice, “Someone fucked me last night when I was too drunk to fight back. Dunno who it was. Now my boyfriend finds me too revolting to touch, and to be honest, I’m starting to feel kind of weird just sleeping in the same bed as him. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

He blurts it all out so effortlessly, but detached. Emotionless. He turns the joint around in his long fingers a few times, then offers it back to me.

I hold up my hand again and he goes for a fourth toke without question. And I don’t mind one bit. Lord knows he probably needs it more than me at this point. Hell. I feel rather stupid for whinging about my problems now. Especially the part about being sex-deprived.

I’m utterly lost for words. And for me, that’s a feat. I shake my head, knitting my brow, for a few long moments. When I finally steal a look at him, he’s busy taking another deep toke on the joint. I don’t blame him.

“Jesus,” I finally breathe out, shaking my head again. “That must be… Christ… Troye—“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he cuts in, and to be honest, I’m relieved. Because I have no idea what to say. “It just is what it is. And now… I guess I just try to find some way to move on.”

I hesitate for another long moment, then finally hazard, “Yeah, but… That just doesn’t sound like Jacob, man. I know Jacob, have for the last couple of years. That’s just not how he is, you know? And especially since he met you – he’s the same as he was before, but a little bit different, in that… Well, he… Troye, mate, the dude’s crazy about you. I think I knew it before he did. He’s talked about you since he met you. I don’t think this sort of thing is something that would… put him off. If anything, I’d think he’d do anything to help.”

He scoffs. “Anything except touch me.”

“Well, he probably has a good reason for that – not… not that… he doesn’t want to, but maybe he’s just trying to be careful with you, you know?”

Troye pauses, leaning forward on his elbows and looking deep in thought. He takes another hit and holds it for a long moment before letting it out slowly. He looks up at me through his long, dark eyelashes. “You think so?” His voice, typically soft, now sounds small and hopeful as well.

I smirk. “Aw, c’mon, man. The guy’s nuts about you. Head over heels, like. He’s, like, genuinely in love. Has been since long before he actually asked you out. He was just, like, nervous that you wouldn’t feel the same. I think that’s why he waited so long. But no way he’s revolted, mate. He’s just being careful.”

He averts his eyes shyly and murmurs, “Hm… Yeah… I guess. Maybe it’s for the best…”

“Yeah,” I urge him. “You said yourself, right? You’re not feeling quite right yet? Maybe you just need some time. I mean, like… a trauma like that takes time to get over.”

He lifts his head and looks straight at me, and the expression on his face, the haunting, hollow look in his eyes – it shakes me a little, and I stop the verbal puking long enough to let him ask hopefully, “He told you he loved me?”

I sigh and nod my head fervently. “He didn’t say so until maybe a week or so ago, but mate, he never stopped talking about you. Since you two started hanging out, I think we all knew what was going on. Even his bloody prick of a roommate caught on.”

He shrugs. “That’s why he doesn’t like me.”

I wince. No getting around that barrier. “Well, yeah… But there, that’s something else you guys got in common.”

“Great for us,” he deadpans, and takes another hit. I suddenly realize he’s been smoking that joint all by himself, like a bloody cigarette, and hardly seems off-kilter at all. It’s pretty impressive. But then, I realize as I stare at him, there are pretty much shedloads of things that are impressive about this little guy.

“Hey,” I start hesitantly, “why don’t you have one more, I’ll kill it, then we go inside where it’s warm.”

He raises his eyebrows at me from behind a plume of smoke. “You sure you’ve calmed down enough? Need to have another shout?”

“Nah,” I chuckle, waving it away. “Just one or two more hits for me will do the trick.”

He shrugs, then takes one more before handing it back to me easily.

I take my two drags, then snuff the rest out on the ground before stuffing it in my pocket and turning back to him. And in that time, he’s managed to push himself up onto the concrete slab so he’s standing, and I’m taken aback when the robe falls slightly to the sides to reveal that underneath he’s wearing only a pair of short underwear shorts and a skimpy tank top. And bare feet. I gawk at him.

“What the hell, man!” I exclaim, holding up my hands and waving to him to come over to me. “What you wearin’ that for? It’s almost November! You crazy or what? This is New York, not Australia!”

He giggles and follows my gesticulating to come over to me so I can help him down. “With the robe and the smoke, I’m actually feeling pretty warm.”

“I don’t care! We’re getting you inside where it’s warm! Now come on, lean down,” I order, and he complies easily. I hold onto him by his hips and he grips my shoulders, and after a short countdown, he hops off the concrete slab – and when his feet hit the ground, his legs give out and he stumbles against me. I tense my hold on him and pull up sharply, making sure he doesn’t hit the ground, and manage to get him onto steadier feet with a little help. He wobbles a little, so I tell him to take his time, he’s had quite a lot of weed, and I wait for a few moments for him to get his bearings.

And in that time, the weed proves that it’s gotten ahold of myself as well, because my eyes are trained on his face intensely, watching him like a hawk – and then, the caution slips from my demeanor and I end up just studying him as he sways a bit in place before clutching my shoulders more tightly to balance himself. I take in his sharply boned facial structure, utterly smooth skin, the way his pale hair falls over one sharply blue eye as the other peers up at me curiously, the shape and color of his perfect lips…

“Wow,” I breathe, and he stares straight at me in confusion. I swallow hard and find the words tumbling out of my mouth without my permission: “You’re really pretty.”

He smiles shyly at that, averting his gaze from mine. When he does, I blink, coming back to myself, and clear my throat uncomfortably.

“I just meant, you know, in the way that, um, Jacob’s told me on several occasions, and, like, it’s not that I didn’t believe him, but, like, that I have a certain version of `pretty,’ and I think – or at least, I THOUGHT – it was sort of a bit different than his, but, well, maybe they’re not so different after all—“

Before I realize what’s happening, he’s pressing those soft, pink lips against my own, gently at first, just to stop my jabbering. But he doesn’t pull away after I’ve shut up. Ever so slightly, they grow more firm. I’m startled, to say the least, but I find myself unable to push him away – too curious to see where this will lead. And besides… it actually feels… pretty good. Pretty damn good. So through the haze in my head, I find my eyes slipping shut, reveling silently in the sensation of his lips urging mine open slightly, and the next moment the tip of his tongue is tickling my mouth open wider. And I comply willingly. Feeling him slip his warm tongue inside. Coaxing me to follow his lead. And I do, quite eagerly. He tastes sweet, in a way. Like cigarettes and herbs and candy. I unconsciously kiss him back, actually no longer just responding but taking the lead and deepening the kiss, my hands tightening around his tiny waist. I reach up with one hand and run my fingers through his silky hair, holding the back of his head as I breathe deeply and delve further into his mouth, twisting our tongues together. At this point, I don’t even care who’s on the other side of this – the feeling is just too good, and I just don’t want to stop…

But the hands on my shoulders snake up to my neck, and – albeit gently – he pries us apart with a smacking sound and my eyes snap open, as if waking up suddenly from a dream.

I look down at Troye and blink, suddenly embarrassed. I immediately drop my hands from his hair and waist, taking a step back.

But before I can work up any kind of apology, he just smiles at me and tells me, “You’re pretty cute yourself. And I can assure you – you haven’t lost the kissing talent either.”

I chuckle softly, feeling like a junior high school boy on his first date. I keep my head low and mumble, “Well… you know… I just… um… Thanks.” Then I remember how old I am, and what I’m meant to be doing. It’s the weed – of course it’s the weed. It slows you down. I shake myself and gesture to him. “Hey, uh, c’mon. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

He shrugs. “I’m already pretty warm, but okay. Pretty tired now. Thank you for that. The joint, I mean. You let me have most of it.”

“Oh, no problem.” I wince when he starts to move forward and almost stumbles back into the concrete slab. I hesitate for a moment, considering what’s just happened, but then decide to err on the side of caution. “Um, why don’t you let me help you?” And I put an arm around his back – several inches higher than his waist this time – and let him lean some weight on me as I lead him to the back door.

“Thanks,” he giggles. “Think I might’ve had too much.”

“Uh, you do remember you, uh… kissed me, right?” I hazard.

He chortles at that. “I’m high, I’m not stupid, Jack. I know what I did. Um, maybe don’t mention that to Jacob, by the way?”

“What?” I scoff. “You actually think I was gonna TELL him?”

We mumble silly things to each other all the way upstairs, and I insist on walking him to his room, as he’s still unsteady on his feet. But once we reach his bedroom door, I have to ask him, “By the way… that kissing thing we just did there… why’d you do it?”

He peers at me with a dreamy smile on his face. “You were rambling. I wanted to nicely shut you up. And you’re cute. Is that bad?”

“No, no… Well, it isn’t for ME, you know, but it’s just… I’m not—“

“I know you’re not gay. That’s the thing, though. I thought you’d push me away, but at least you would’ve shut up. Y’know? But you didn’t. You… You kissed me back. Which was nice.”

I stare down at him, shaking my head. I don’t think I’ll ever figure this kid out. But hey, that’s okay. He’s cool as far as I’m concerned. “And we still agree we’re not mentioning that part to Jacob, right? Because the dude’s, like, twice my height, probably three times as buff, and would not hesitate to take my head off if it concerned you…”

He smirks, but only goes on, “Plus you called me pretty. That felt nice, too.”

“And you called me—“

“Cute. Because…” He leans into me and plants a very gentle kiss on my cheek, whispering in my ear, “You are. And very sweet too.” He pulls back and smiles, reaching for the door. “Thank you, Jack.”

He’s halfway inside his room by the time I find the strength to whisper back, “Goodnight.”

Too much bloody charm. Some people are just born lucky, I suppose. But hey, if someone like that thinks I’M “cute,” then there must be some kind of truth to it, I suppose…

Or the weed’s just gotten to me, too. I turn and find my way back to the sitting room, obviously getting the typical harassment from the others when I return. This time, though, I’m not upset or frustrated or anything. A little confused – which I’ll sort out later, in my mind, to myself – but not mad. Simply tired. So they finally agree to let me lie down for a bit instead. And I’m grateful for the chance to check out from reality, if only for a little while. I fall asleep after spending half an hour fingering my lips as I think back on my first kiss in a fucking year.

Not a bad start to hopefully the beginning of a more active period. Now maybe something good will happen so I can stop searching for porn on fucking RedTube.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for letting this go for so long. I promise I do have more to this story, and I will be posting it. I just need to write it. Please bear with me and thank you for sticking with me if you’ve gotten this far!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob starts feeling jealous; Traci starts feeling insecure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to try trimming the chapters back a bit. I have lots of material to get through but I take a long time to do it. Maybe this way there will be more posts, though they'll be shorter. I still hope you enjoy them.

Troye

Saturday night:

Crawling back into bed late that night feels tons better than the first time. My fingers and legs tingling in that sweet way they do during a nice high, I don’t even jump when I feel Jacob move beside me and slide an arm around my middle like he usually does. I bury my face halfway into my pillow and smile, closing my eyes and reveling in the sensation of the cool sheet around us.

“Enjoy your cigarette?” he asks, then pauses to sniff my hair. “Hm. That doesn’t smell quite like a cigarette to me. Troye…?”

“What?” I respond innocently.

“Where’d you get weed from?” he chuckles, and I feel his fingers lightly brushing over my arm. “And why didn’t you share it with me?” he adds, only half-joking, apparently.

“I couldn’t,” I answer him as I lazily turn onto my back, my eyes closed and head reclining to stretch my neck. “It was Jack’s. Oh!” I gasp suddenly, reaching over to tap him lightly on the arm before admitting, “Don’t say anything to him because I promised we wouldn’t tell you, but in the interest of being open and honest, I think I should let you know that I kissed him, and it wasn’t the other way around either. _I _kissed _him._” A slight exaggeration, seeing as it kind of turned from one to the other rather quickly, but Jacob doesn’t need to know that.

The confession itself is enough to startle him, however. I feel him tense up beside me as he goes on, “Well, first of all, I was joking, because I don’t do pot.” His tone takes on that condescending air he has sometimes. “I don’t even like that you smoke cigarettes.”

I lower my gaze guiltily and mumble, “Only sometimes…”

But he’s not listening to my excuses. He continues, “And second, why exactly did you kiss him?”

I sigh and roll my eyes, explaining briefly, “Well, he was rambling about things he shouldn’t be worried about, and I wanted to shut him up in a nicer way than actually _saying_ `shut up.’ He was worried about forgetting how to kiss, so I wanted to prove to him that he’s still got it, y’know?”

Jacob seems surprised by this. “And he let you? He didn’t push you away?”

“No!” I answer incredulously. “He’s really sweet, he probably didn’t even think of it. Plus,” I add sheepishly, “well, as a bonus for me, he’s really fucking cute.”

Jacob cringes visibly before asking, “You think _Jack_ is _cute_?”

Without thinking twice, I nod enthusiastically. “He’s freakin’ adorable and so super sweet, who wouldn’t wanna kiss him?”

Jacob huffs, “I would’ve stopped at `freak.’ I mean, we’re friends, yeah,” he adds when I peer at him dubiously, “but really, he’s scruffy and small and I’m just wondering if you aren’t delusional, or maybe the pot got to you too much, because that kid is just…a _freak_.”

It takes me a moment, but I finally realize as I gawk at him for being so rude why he’s acting this way. I smile and reach out to tug on his arm. “Aw, c’mon, babe. Don’t be jealous, there’s no reason to be!”

But Jacob just scoffs, shrugging my hand away petulantly as he mutters, “Jealous? Why the fuck would I be jealous of some loud little obnoxious plebeian, who’s actually straight, and a bit of a pothead as well?”

Okay. Now he’s starting to go a little too far, and his rather insulting description of Jack makes me bristle. “He’s no shorter than me, really,” I point out testily, “we’re about the same fucking height. So I guess I’m too small to be attractive too, then, right? And scruffy? How? Just because he has facial hair? And what about when you let the stubble grow out a bit, then? That makes you ugly? All right, maybe he’s straight, but he didn’t freak out on me, so he’s at least nice. And pothead? Well…” I hesitate, trying to think up a good rebuttal for that one. But I’m having a bit of a hard time there…

Luckily, Jacob cuts in before I need to think of anything and insists, “He’s just not very…refined. And he swears like a sailor.”

I roll my eyes again, shrugging that off easily. “So do I, really. Swearing’s no big deal in Australia. Besides, he’s not a _plebeian_, he’s not so common or obnoxious or uncultured as you imply, and he’s not a freak in the way you mean it. So he dyes his hair green, so what? So he has gauges and tattoos, and? And he just gets excitable and has lots of energy, from what I’ve seen when they play games. But anyway, the kiss wasn’t a big thing. It was a little thing that I instigated that didn’t last long…” (Okay, so that’s a slight lie; it was pretty deep and lingering, so that I felt bad cutting it off when I did, and by the end Jack had really been the one in charge, so to speak) “…and yes, it was probably brought on partly by the pot. But you still shouldn’t feel jealous,” I push, reaching for his arm again and squeezing it. “You’re the one I love.”

He makes a strange face, but ultimately pats my hand and says, “Oh, I know that. I just think your taste is a little off. I like the guy, I really do. But anything romantic with him? I can’t imagine it, it’s just kind of…” He pauses to shudder for effect. “…gross.”

This annoys me, so I snake my hand back to my chest and glare up at the ceiling. “You know what? It was a nice kiss, to be completely honest,” I fire back sharply. “His lips are softer than you’d think. And he actually _did_ kiss me back, in fact, and he’s an incredible kisser. I’m glad I did it. And you know what else?” I continue despite Jacob’s obvious disdain for my assessment, and I glance briefly toward his eyes to make sure I have his attention before digging in deeper. “I bet he’s an amazing fuck. I mean, if he gets that aroused over video games, and can get me hard with one kiss, just imagine what he’s like in bed.”

He knows I’m just saying it to piss him off, I can tell by the strained smirk on his lips. And I can tell it’s working. He leans over me and hisses, “Just shut up and go to sleep.”

“Good,” I sigh, turning my back to him as I switch to my side. “Because the way you badmouth him after he had nothing but nice things to say about you is sickening.”

There’s a brief pause above me, before Jacob stutters, “H-He said stuff? About me? Wh-What kind of stuff?”

“Nice stuff,” I answer easily, hoping every word feels like a needle in his back. “Insisting you’re such a great guy who wants to protect me. Kind of seems like you’re letting down his stellar appraisal of you now.” I glance back over my shoulder at him. “Stings, don’t it?” And before he can answer, I turn away again and close my eyes.

  
Traci

Monday morning:

Logan sets down two more duffel bags full of clothes with a weary huff in front of Alec’s apartment door, looking up at me pleadingly. “Can’t I just leave some shit up there and get it when I need it?” he begs pathetically.

I’m a bit too preoccupied with syncing my manual watch with the clocks here to give much care to the whiney bastard’s plea. “I said everything, Logan, and I meant it. You’re damn lucky you have no classes this morning or I would’ve made you do this until well into tonight. Like I said, _everything_ into the extra room in Alec’s before midnight tonight. Now come on. What’re all your muscles for? You’re not tired yet, are you?”

I know the brat hates me even if he doesn’t give me a look of pure loathing as he opens the door and starts dragging the bags inside, but I really couldn’t give a shit. He brought this on himself and really is lucky we haven’t pushed for more, like expulsion from the House, if not the school itself. But even a scared and wary Troye didn’t want to push things that far for the slimeball. _I_ pushed for it, mind you, but Troye insisted that it was too much for his first official slip-up. The kid is just too nice, if you ask me. But really, he insisted, all he wanted was a different room. He was willing to move himself, but that wouldn’t have been fair, so Alec and I agreed that this arrangement would be better anyway – now Alec had a closer eye on Logan so he could keep up on the creep’s actions. And if those actions happened to slide back in the direction of harassing Troye, he would catch it, and _then_ we could seriously talk about expulsion.

It just sucks that Alec’s busy taking most of the others to campus in the House van to oversee Logan’s move, so that I get stuck with that delightful chore.

As he disappears inside the apartment with his bags slung over his shoulders, Phil comes bounding into the room from the front, apparently pleased to find me by the smile on his face.

“Good, you’re here,” he says, peering cautiously into the open apartment. “Is Alec, um…”

I tell him where his RA is and ask if there’s anything he needs. He doesn’t have classes until this afternoon either, so I’m not worried or wondering why he isn’t in the van to go to school instead of sauntering up to me. As soon as he hears that Alec isn’t around, Phil turns and shouts over his shoulder, “It’s okay, Dan, go on up.”

I eye him up curiously. “Uh, what exactly is going on here, then? You hiding something from me?”

He turns back to me and giggles, “No! Of course not! Why would I do that?” Which makes me sure he’s hiding something. But instead of dwelling on that, I have my own concerns and I step closer to him, taking him by the arm.

“Look, I have a question,” I mumble, leading him away from the apartment so Logan can’t overhear us as he re-emerges and goes back upstairs to get more of his belongings. “More like, I need your advice,” I sigh, and Phil peers at me curiously.

“Go on,” he urges me, completely serious now.

“Well, here’s the thing: I know the procedures we need to take now in regards to Troye’s situation. Not the Logan situation, but the other thing. The problem is, well, _Troye_.”

He blinks in surprise. “Troye? Why’s he a problem?”

“He’s just not very cooperative right now, as I’m sure you can imagine. He probably wants to forget all this shit ever happened, but you and I know that we can’t just sweep it under the rug – the kid’ll implode within weeks, if not days. So this morning I told him to clear his day so I can take him to the police, and then to a therapist I know who can help him out. He flat out refused! Said he didn’t plan on going to the cops, said they’d just laugh at him. But they didn’t turn him away at the hospital, in fact they confirmed his suspicions. I know it’ll be embarrassing and scary, but he really needs to do this, just in the hopes of finding whoever took advantage of him so they can’t do it again to someone else.

“I told him all of that, and he reluctantly agreed, and when I went on my tangent about how therapy would really be beneficial to him at this stage, maybe even to recovering his memories, he quickly agreed that, yes, fine, it would be. But he still refused to do anything today. I had to make him promise me to clear his schedule for tonight so we can go do these things. He’s annoyed with me and I don’t know how helpful this stuff will be if he closes up and refuses to be open with the cops or the therapist. Do you think I’m doing the right thing in urging him to do it?”

Phil contemplates this all very seriously for a while, before patting my arm and assuring me. “Dad, you’re doing all you can do – all you _should_ be doing. He’s just scared right now, and in his right mind, he knows you’re only trying to help. Give him some time, let him realize that these are the steps he needs to take to feel better again. I know Troye – he’s resistant now, but deep down he knows you’re right. Otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed at all. He just doesn’t want this to change his entire life, and today that’s what it feels like, not just one day out of his usual routine. But he’ll come around. So don’t sweat it too much. You’re doing all you can.”

I wince and lean in closer to him as Logan returns with some boxes and retreats back into the apartment. I lower my voice and go on, “When I found out about it yesterday, when Alec came to me, he and I sat down and made phone calls to all the friends Troye had been out with that night – not a whole lot, but a few. Tyler was the most helpful, as he hadn’t been that drunk and had been the one driving. He said he walked Troye to the door and got him in safely, but he doesn’t know what might’ve happened after that. There were no signs of anything unusual at the bar, so I doubt anything happened there.”

My whip-smart son blinks up at me in shock. “You don’t mean… Are you thinking someone _here_ might’ve done it? Because frankly, I can’t think of anyone who would’ve. Felix, PJ, me and Dan – we’re all his friends. And Logan – well, he’s a homophobic prick, to be perfectly honest, so I can’t imagine _that_.”

I hesitate as Logan re-emerges from the apartment, glancing disdainfully in our direction before heading back upstairs, and my gaze lingers faintly on his back. Phil doesn’t know about the creepy pictures Logan took of Troye while he was sleeping, and honestly, I don’t think I’m the one who’s responsible for giving out that sort of information. Besides, apart from the sickening instinct in my gut, I have no hard evidence to suggest it could have been Logan. So I merely sigh and look back to my son, who’s watching me intently.

I pat Phil’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. I know I’m your superior and your father, but I also know you’re aware of the fact that I value your opinion.”

He beams back at me. “Of course, Dad. Anytime.” And I let him go to meet Dan upstairs for… whatever the hell they’re up to.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob becoming more frustrated; Troye becoming more scared; Jack just being cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a panic attack over losing two months' worth of notes the night before posting this, but thankfully managed to recover them before all was lost. So this chapter brought to you by Shitting My Pants, My Sister's Endless Patience, FonePaw, and My Need For A Purpose.

Jacob

Monday night:

The constant and steady footfalls going up and down the length of the room were nothing big when I first climbed into bed. But after half an hour, the racket is starting to drive me nuts. I sigh heavily and turn on my side to face the smoldering gaze coming from Troye’s darkened eyes, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest as he agitatedly paces the room. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” I finally break into his intense concentration. “Would you stop that sulking and come to bed already?” 

Troye continues pacing but finally growls out, “I can’t believe Traci made me do that! Go to the fucking cops? What the fuck are they gonna do? I was perfectly content to just move on with my life, and now... now...” 

“Now there’ll be a formal investigation into it, and you will have helped other potential victims from being hurt.” 

Troye gives me an exasperated look. “And _now_, the cops think I’m a joke, and I’m out a day’s pay, which Traci won’t be making up. Don’t delude yourself, babe, no one at that station was taking me seriously. They just thought another fucking nancy boy regretted taking it in the ass from a jerk again and is trying to get revenge. They don’t _care_, Jacob.” 

“That’s a pretty cynical take on it.” 

“Maybe I’ve gotten more cynical then. But the looks on their faces, the half-hidden smirks and hateful glares...” 

I raise my eyebrows at him and suggest pointedly, “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s deluded? Maybe you’re only seeing what you want to be there because you’re embarrassed? Scared?” 

He hesitates for a moment before looking away and snapping irritably, “I dunno, maybe.” 

“And the therapy?” 

“I dunno,” he repeats with his back to me. “Don’t feel like talking about it.” 

“Would you quit pacing and get over here already?” I plead. “Just come lay down with me, I’ll make you forget all of that for a bit.” 

Troye makes a gagging sound of disgust deep in his throat. “The last thing I wanna do is make out right now.” 

“No,” I lie, changing my angle quickly, “not _that_. Come on, I’ll tell you a couple of my secrets.” 

Troye pauses, eying me up over his shoulder. “Secrets? What secrets?” 

“Lay down with me and I’ll tell you!” 

Speaking of secrets, I’m secretly relieved he’s too caught up in other things to talk about how great Jack is tonight - not that he normally would but it seems the irritant from Saturday is gone. But that isn’t one of the “secrets” I want to tell him. 

He finally gives in and slumps into bed, his back pressed against my front as I encircle his waist with one arm and nuzzle his ear gently. He shrugs and squirms uncomfortably at the contact, pulling the sheet up over a bony shoulder, but I persist as I speak softly to him. 

“Do you want to know some of the things I fantasize about?” I ask in a low, sultry voice, letting my lips brush over the shell of his ear. 

Troye, ever the innocent angel, suggests plainly, “That yacht thing you talk about wanting to buy one day?” 

I chuckle and tighten my arm around his waist, letting my dangling fingertips tickle his belly ever so slightly over his loose silk top. He’s not very ticklish, thankfully, but he still shifts a little in my grasp. “No, silly! I mean when I fantasize about you.” 

“You do that?” He sounds genuinely surprised. 

“Of course I do, sweetness.” I nuzzle his ear some more, breathing in the scent of sandalwood in his hair from his shampoo. “I fantasize about you a lot.” 

“Oh... Well...” He hesitates, then cringes a little. “To be honest? I’m not really in the mood to hear about… fantasies at the moment…” He snuggles back against me anyway, but his words sting a little too deep and I find myself sighing heavily and lolling my head back away from him.

“Fine,” I deadpan, calling it a night in my head. “Nevermind then.”

“I-It’s not that I don’t want to know,” he assures me, though his assertion is weak. “I do, it’s just… maybe not right now?”

I let my arm dangle loosely over his side, shrugging helplessly. “Whatever,” I tell him dispassionately, and close my eyes.

He must be satisfied with that, because after a moment, he shifts in his position slightly, and after a while I begin to feel the cold space growing between us.

Enough, then, I tell myself, and set my mind on sleeping instead.

  
Troye

Thurs night 

I have to stop myself from slamming my bedroom door in my rush to leave on Thursday night. Not out of anger or because I’m in a hurry to go somewhere specific, but out of fear. Fear of what just happened, and fear that Jacob would see the tears spilling over onto my cheeks. My breath and hands both trembling, I pull my warm bathrobe tighter around me and automatically let my feet take me to the winding staircase down to the first floor.

  
I didn’t really mind that Jacob brought wine over. I knew I didn’t want any, but who am I to tell him not to have some? But if I’d known he was going to turn into an octopus on me within an hour, I would’ve told him to go back to the dorms.

  
Besides, grabby hands are one thing, but when he started to undress under the covers and climb on top of me, I knew I’d had enough. My nerve was failing, I knew I wasn’t ready, it was getting to be too much...

  
But then when I outright _told_ him to stop and he blatantly ignored me, even going so far as to hold my arms down to lean in further to kiss me, I knew I had to do more. So I “accidentally” jammed a knee between his legs, causing him to curl up in pain, and pushed him off so I could slide off the bed and scurry away, apologizing profusely - as I grabbed my bathrobe with my cigarettes in the pocket and rushed out of the room.

  
My heart is still pounding in my chest as I head toward the kitchen, shaken that I just had to stop my own boyfriend with force from going too far. What the fuck?! Do I just radiate an aura of “rape target” from my entire body? Or did the wine mixed with sexual frustration win him over? I know he didn’t _mean_ to hurt me, he just... went too far.

  
Unfortunately, I find little respite when I reach the kitchen to find Logan standing by the fridge, munching on something from a bag in his hand.

  
Without thinking, I blurt out, “Why’re _you_ here? Doesn’t Alec’s apartment have a kitchen?”

  
To which he sneers, “He’s only got healthy shit, your highness. So I wanted some chips. You gonna tell on me, princess?”

  
I instantly feel ridiculous for even asking. He still lives here, he has every right to be in the kitchen. So I swallow hard and walk quickly past him without a word to the back door. To my relief, the door is already unlocked, the light is on, and to my pleasant surprise, I spy Jack outside in the cold, smoking what is most likely not just a plain cigarette.

  
Get away from grabby hands, overly horny boyfriend, and a gross housemate to the possibility of some pot and a sweetie like Jack? I practically throw myself out into the cold night air, quite happily.

  
Jack jumps when he hears the door, but I quickly hold up my hands and whisper, “Just me.”

  
He relaxes as I make my way to his side, noting with bemusement that I’m barefoot again. 

Looking him over, I retaliate slyly with, “You’re one to talk; you’ve got air conditioning in your pants,” and I gesture to two giant holes in the knees of his black jeans. 

  
Jack glances down at them as if he forgot they were there, then smiles helplessly back at me. He’s got such an adorable smile that, even in this chilly air, seems to melt my heart. 

  
As I make my way over to him, I ask quietly, “Hey, um, can I ask a favor?”

“Anything you need, love.”

I smile shyly at the new endearment, even if Jack doesn’t seem to have even noticed, like it’s something he’s been doing for years. I clear my throat and ask, “Um, if I give you some money, would you be able to… you know… get some for me?”

He looks a little startled by the prospect but simply shrugs and answers, “Yeah, sure, no problem. I’m getting a new stash in a few days. I’ll put some aside for you. You know how to roll?”

I tilt my head to the side. “It’s been a while but I used to back home.” 

Jack says, “No problem. I’ll roll `em for you. Maybe give you enough for, like, one a day for a week. I’ll let you know. Did you need anythin’ else? Something right now maybe?” 

I bite my lip anxiously. “Do you – Do you have anymore?” 

And that adorable, heart-melting smile crawls back to his lips as he reaches for his other joint without question. He hands it over to me and says, “Enjoy.” 

I sigh with relief and snatch my lighter from my pocket. But just as the flame light hits my face, his expression changes from laid-back to suddenly alert and worried.

“Hang on,” he says, standing straighter and facing me. It dawns on me slowly that the light must have illuminated the tears on my cheeks, and seeing that somehow bothers him. He puts out his own joint and rests it on top of the concrete beside us, then reaches out to me, holding my face gently to wipe the dampness away. “What’s this, then? You shouldn’t ever be so sad. What’s wrong, love?” 

I’m utterly thrown; no one has ever done this to me before besides my own mother. But the action is too comforting to make me think of stopping him. I mentally blame his tenderness on the weed, but Jack sounds genuinely concerned. And that’s when I notice that he’s watching me so intently that I swear I can feel whenever he’s looking at me, like the last time we were out here together and I could feel his gaze on me; not in a creepy way, but more like... secure, like there’s someone there watching out for me, someone there who cares.

I suddenly feel really close to him and want to tell him, but I quickly talk myself out of it, thinking it’s an issue between myself and Jacob that I shouldn’t burden anyone else with. I’m tempted to. I start to open my mouth to complain about Jacob’s behavior, but seeing the worried look on Jack’s face, and thinking this is something I should really bring up with only Jacob, I stop myself and nothing comes out. I shouldn’t be bothering Jack with such intimate problems. 

Jack leans forward a bit, as if trying to hear better, but I look away, stepping back from him slightly and saying simply, “Jacob pushed a little too far.”

“Too far?” he says, sounding confused, and I have to smirk a little to myself at his accent – just the way he says Mark’s name, that strong Irish drawl. “How so?”

But I smother my nearly formed smile and just softly assure him, “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” he replies, though his tone is full of caution. “Okay. I won’t push it.” He clears his throat and shifts gears, dropping his hands from my face and leaning sideways against the concrete. “Well, then, can I confess something to you? It’s sort of about the other night. You know, when you, um, kissed me...” 

I’m grateful for the change in subject and turn to look at him. “Go on.” 

Jack admits, “I’ve been having a lot of trouble concentrating, and I mean, like, more than my usual ADD.” 

I start to chuckle, which causes Jack to do the same, but then he adds, “Well, I do mean that, by the way. I’ve been on medication for it for years. Surprise, surprise, right?” 

“Oh...” I wince. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to joke—“ 

“No, it’s ok. I think it’s pretty funny. I mean, I’m practically the poster boy for it, so it’s just fitting. But anyway,” he goes on, obviously having more on his mind than how frantic that mind can be, “it seems to have gotten worse, the, uh, symptoms, but there’s a reason for it... I think I’m having some trouble, um... defining myself at the moment. I know a lot of people go through phases or just realize these things at my age, especially being away at college, but... Well, I’m sort of... questioning my sexuality now. Because I, uh... really liked what we did. It didn’t even bother me that you’re, you know, a guy. I was more concerned about you being with someone else, other than Jacob. So that didn’t really cross my mind until you brought it up. And it’s not all together new for me, in little ways. Like, I could always tell if I thought a guy was attractive or not, in my opinion, but I never gave much thought as to whether I was actually attracted... and I guess, like, in the past few days, um… I noticed that I kind of… am.” 

Now this is an area I’m all too familiar with. I step closer to him and nudge him with my elbow as I lean next to him against the concrete. “Hey, well, I can’t solve or answer anything for you,” I tell him, “but if you ever need to talk, or if you have any questions, or you just need to get something off your chest, you can always come to me. Whether you want advice or just need to vent. We’re friends, yeah? I’m here to help you figure things out.”

Jack picks up his half-smoked joint, says, “I’m already working on it,” and relights it. 

We sit in a long, comfortable silence for a while, merely smoking our own private fears and concerns away, and then out of curiosity, I start asking him about this new/not new area in his life.

“What sorts of guys do you find attractive?” 

“I dunno... different ones...” 

“Brad Pitt?” 

“Meh... everyone else thinks so but he just does nothing for me.” 

“Ryan Reynolds?” 

“Definitely funny. There’s just something about him that makes me wanna say yes.” 

“Viggo Mortenson?” 

“As Aragorn, hell yeah.” 

“Harry Styles?” 

“Harry who?” 

“Nevermind. Jason Momoa?” 

“Good god, who wouldn’t?” 

“Sam Smith?” 

“Um...who?” 

“Keanu Reeves?” 

“I’d marry that bastard in a heartbeat, even if I were definitely straight.” 

“Mark?” 

At this name, he pauses, then hazards cautiously, “Mark who?” 

“Your roommate, Mark?”

He’s absolutely silent for a long moment that hangs between us curiously.

“What?” I urge him. “You don’t know? Never thought about it?” 

“Eh...can’t say never,” he answers slowly, his voice a bit distant. “But...I liked it better when we were talking about guys we don’t have a chance of even meeting. Someone I _know_? Get back to me on that...”

I realize he must feel uncomfortable when asked about Mark because he changes the subject by asking, “So, does Jacob spend the night a lot?” Switching the focus from himself back to me again.

I grow quiet, but admit, “Yes, at least recently, because I have nightmares and trouble sleeping.”

Jack points out, “I thought Logan was homophobic.” 

“You could say that,” I respond dryly. 

“Okay, so how does he deal with you two sleeping in the same room all the time? Or does he just sleep in the front room now?”

Heaving a tremendous sigh, I tell him about the issue with the pictures getting Logan kicked out of the room. Jack’s face gradually shifts from curious to concerned to downright horrified.

“Jesus,” he muses, almost breathlessly. “I mean, I’m relieved you found the pictures instead of something worse happening, but it’s still sick as hell to do that to you.” 

Now it’s my turn to go uncomfortably silent, deep in thought, going over in my head again why I’m just being paranoid about Logan having anything to do with the rape. It was just coincidence that I felt a surge of terror when Logan grabbed my throat the other night. 

Jack reaches over to gently shake me by the shoulder, asking “You all right, love? You spaced out for a bit.” 

Before I can stop myself, I turn slightly and lean into him, desperate for real comfort, and find myself suddenly resting my head on Jack’s shoulder. He seems a little taken off guard at first, freezing up for a few seconds, but after the initial shock, Jack slides an innocent arm around my back and lets me stay there for a while, neither of us saying a word.

Honestly, it’s the most comfortable I’ve felt since this entire nightmare started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry I take so long between chapters. I have low motivation and self-esteem so I procrastinate a lot. But I do have lots of notes on what I want to happen so it’s not going away anytime soon. I just take a while. Am attempting to work on two chapters at once now, so hopefully 16 won’t take as long as 15 did. Again, I’m sorry, and if you are enjoying this series, please comment and let me know! Any suggestions? I’m open to them! Thank you to all who have been reading my story! It really means more than you can imagine!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disturbing discovery; the beginning of a long recovery.

Jacob  
Friday:  
After the disaster that was Thursday night, I doubt I’ll have any luck tonight, and I honestly consider going back to the dorms after Troye and I get done at the agency. What’s the point, right? But when my classes are over for the day, before I even get to my dorm room, my phone rings. And my entire evening changes. 

I show up to the house early, frazzled, with Jack on speakerphone the whole way. I don’t even bother knocking on the front door, simply charge in to find who I need to find. As I expected, Dan and Phil are at the dining room table, hunched over Dan’s laptop. I point to them and order, “Let me use that,” before either of them can greet me.

I march over and squeeze between them, squatting down and handing Dan my phone. I input the address for RedTube in the computer and Dan gasps, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! This is my laptop, this is gonna be on my browser history—“

“I can tell you how to erase that,” Jack’s voice buzzes through the phone, making Dan jump.

“Okay,” I interrupt, “now what do I look up again?”

Dan and Phil snicker slightly and Dan surmises, “This is something Jack found? Jack, what the hell are you doing, looking up shit on RedTube? Are you really that desperate, man?”

But Jack apparently doesn’t care, simply roars over the phone, “Fuck off! This is really important! Now whatever you do, don’t let Troye know or see any of this. He’s already in a fragile state, no need to push him over the edge.”

Hearing that just before he lists the search terms off to me somehow pierces me a little too sharply, and I instantly feel guilty about the night before and my previous selfish, irritated thinking. I’m doubly ashamed because, if someone like Jack is that intuitive, how could I have messed up so badly? 

Within seconds, a thumbnail shows up among several others. But the others aren’t familiar to me. The ivory white back and shoulders that I know very well, however, cause a lurch in my gut, and I swallow hard. I hesitate for a long moment, and realize the others have become deathly silent. Jack asks if I see it.

“Y-Yeah,” I stammer. “Sh-Should… Should I click it?”

“I dunno,” Jack answers. “Do you wanna see it to make sure, or are you already sure?”

I exhale softly, my fingers hovering over the mouse. I don’t have to click. And I can also see the name of the user who uploaded it underneath my and Troye’s names for a title.

Then, there’s a very gentle voice from the staircase, Troye requesting softly, “Let me see it.” All three of us turn to look at him in horror, but he seems nonplussed and simply walks over to us. It’s a bit kind of them when Dan and Phil stand and try to block his way, but even his small, frail form won’t be stopped, no matter how graceful and innocuous he seems. The look in his eyes is determined, and the reasoning in his voice can’t be argued with when he says, “Apparently I was there, I should know what it is. Show me.”

Dan and Phil hesitate, but finally part to let him past so he can stand next to me. 

Jack must hear it over phone as well because he suddenly snaps, “Shit, I told you not to let him—“ 

But Troye takes the phone from Dan and takes it off speaker, saying sweetly, “It’s okay, Jack. They didn’t know I was here. But thank you for trying to protect me.” 

That’s when I stand up again, quickly grabbing the phone from Troye and giving him a warning look – I’m not entirely sure why, but it just comes out of me. I tell Jack in a low tone that I’ll talk to him later. 

Jack tries to go on, “Wait! There’s another one—“ but I hang up before he can continue to mess things up for us. 

Troye ignores my stern expression and looks at the screen as he clicks the thumbnail for the video. Sure enough, it takes only a few seconds before he stops it, then he immediately walks – quite calmly – to Alec’s apartment.

The next instant, however, he’s completely changed, pounding on the door with all his strength and yelling Logan’s name. The three of us start toward him, but the door opens faster than we can reach him, and when Alec opens it Troye lunges inside. Alec catches him by the arms to hold him back, but his suddenly powerful voice echoes throughout the house.

“LOGAN! Get out here and face me, you coward! You can slander and humiliate me all you want but don’t you dare involve Jacob in your pathetic little games! You disgusting piece of shit!”

Alec stares down the three of us dubiously. “Why the hell is he acting like a maniac?”

Without hesitating, Dan takes his laptop over to show Alec the video Logan apparently uploaded online. Once he sees, his face changes to a mixture of exasperation and disgust. Handing Troye off to me easily, he calls over his shoulder, “Logan! Come out here now! And bring your video camera!” He turns to Troye, who’s still panting and growling in his throat, and orders calmly, “You calm down. We’ll figure this out and give him the punishment he deserves.”

Slowly, Troye settles into my arms, leaning back against me for support.

Reluctantly, Logan obeys, and when he comes into the dining room holding the camera, I feel my muscles tensing to keep Troye from lunging at him. Alec tells Dan to check file in the camera to make sure it’s the corresponding one to the file on the website so we have proof that he recorded and uploaded it himself. Almost immediately, Dan nods his head.

“Yup, it’s right there.”

Logan sighs heavily as Alec points to the laptop Dan’s since rested on the table. “Get that video off of that website, and I’ll be taking that camera.”

“What, the whole thing?” Logan whines. “I need it for class—“

“You should’ve thought of that before you recorded your roommate having sex!” Alec blurts out, and I cringe at the very words.

“Uh, guys?” Dan cuts in as Logan, grumbling, sits down and starts typing and clicking around to delete the video. “There’s, uh, something else you might wanna see here…”

“What’s that?” Alec asks.

I notice Logan slows in his typing, paying closer attention to the conversation behind him.

“There are a few other files here - `Alinity and me,’ `Tana and me’ – but there’s this one here…” He lifts the camera so Alec can see, and he peers over it to glance at Troye, who looks blankly back at him.

“What?” Troye asks.

“It’s just you,” Alec murmurs, obviously trying to be quiet, but Logan is already turning around. “Just your name. Any idea what it could be?”

Troye blinks at him, shaking his head. 

That’s when Logan completely abandons the laptop and whirls around, shouting out something barely comprehensible about his right to privacy.

“Oh like you have the nerve to talk about rights of privacy!” Alec snaps viciously. “Get back on that laptop and take the fucking video DOWN!” 

Turning back to the camera, Alec mutters, “Probably some more creepy pictures of him sleeping or something, maybe a slideshow or something.” He orders Dan to play it.

Within seconds, the audio of Logan’s loud, angry voice demanding, “How many others!?” echoes through the room. 

I squint, not sure what Alec is seeing on the screen, but he obviously doesn’t like it – his eyes widen and his mouth almost drops open as we all hear what is unmistakably Troye’s voice – broken and pleading – “I-I dunno… We never really thought about it till… later…” And then the crack like a whip, a violent slap, and not long after, Troye’s voice again – just his voice, high-pitched and pained, and I finally realize what Alec has found.

Nevermind the physical proof in his hands, but the proof in my own arms, as Troye’s since tensed up to a dangerous degree, frozen in place with his hands clutching my forearm to the point of pain.

“Jacob,” Alec snaps as he fumbles with the camera to shut it off. He pauses in that scuffle to point at Troye and myself. “Get him out of here, NOW.”

But it’s too late, Troye’s heard all he needed to, and now he’s gone into some kind of shock.

Alec gets the camera to shut down, but has to toss it to Dan blindly as Logan’s already started to bolt out of the room. Alec chases him down into the kitchen and drags him back stubbornly, slamming him against the wall and holding an arm behind his back.

“Jacob!” Alec shrieks at me. “Get him OUT!”

But that’s more difficult than it seems. For as small and thin as he is, he seems rooted in place, gaping at Logan with wide, stunned eyes, his face etched with fear.

“It WAS you,” he murmurs, and apparently Logan’s mute glance back at him is all it takes to confirm this.

This is when Troye’s fragile body finally gives out and he goes limp, crumbling to the floor in a shaking heap. I sink down and start collecting him into my arms.

Alec demands if Logan uploaded the video onto the same site. With a sick feeling in my gut, I vaguely recall Jack trying to say that there was something else, something more he had to tell me…

“What do you think I am? Stupid?” Logan spits at him. 

But Alec doesn’t take kindly to being spoken to like that. “Don’t ask me that question right now because as it stands, the answer is already a resounding YES. Dan, check the account, see what other videos he’s posted.”

Dan stumbles to the laptop, almost dropping the camera to the table in the process, and keys in a few things before clicking onto the account itself. After a dreaded sigh, he answers, “Yes. There are five in all. One has the same title and a familiar thumbnail.”

Alec cringes. “Make sure.”

Dan doesn’t look happy about that order, but obeys and clicks on the link. Sure enough, it’s the same video Logan didn’t want any of US to see. 

“Apparently,” Alec grinds out through gritted teeth, “you ARE an idiot. Dan, delete the entire account – we have the video proof right here, no one else has to have access to it anymore. Besides, I’ll bet there are three poor girls out there who didn’t realize they were being recorded either. Phil, go get your father, tell him to get the police here. We have proof that Logan’s the one who did it.” 

As the other two follow his instructions without question, I manage to lift Troye into my arms and carry him into the front room, where I set him carefully on the couch and sit beside him, trying to get him to look at me. He’s unresponsive at first, obviously shocked to find out it had been Logan all along, but even worse, knowing his rape has been out there on the Internet for anyone to watch. I can’t imagine what must be going through his mind right now.

I put my arm around his shoulders and he cringes, shriveling up further into himself. But despite his apparent aversion to even being touched, Troye starts talking to me – or at least, he starts talking, in a voice just above a quivering whisper, as he stares straight ahead with wide eyes and a face as white as a sheet.

“It all came back in a flood when I heard his voice on video. I can remember everything now. I can remember the argument we had beforehand about my drinking and how he said he wanted me. I remember he tried to kiss me, really roughly. I remember being attacked from behind and thrown on the bed and choked… then later being hit and pinned down… I even remember the feeling of him… forcing himself inside me...”

He winces, and I can see the tears building in his eyes. “And it hurt so much, I just screamed, but he covered my mouth with his hand to muffle it...” He finally trails off, unable to go on. 

He’s obviously still shellshocked by the memories coming back, all at once, so instead of even checking to see if he can stand, I merely pick him up and carry him upstairs to bed. 

And through all of this, the most annoying thing nagging at my mind is how I’ll have to contact the agency to let them know two of their favorite models won’t be in tonight.

  
Troye

The next morning, I’m curled into a ball under the shield of my blanket, willing the rest of the world to go away. By eleven o’clock, Jacob’s had about enough of me. He stands at the foot of the bed, tugging at the blanket and pleading with me to just go downstairs for breakfast with him. Saying some bullshit about how I need to at least eat. But I can’t seem to shake this morose and hopeless feeling from me and only pull the blanket around me tighter.

He finally gives in and crawls back into bed with me, but it’s hardly a comfort. Somehow I’ve become even more overly sensitive than I’ve been the last week, and when he kisses the back of my neck and tries to slide an arm around my waist, I shrivel into myself further and nearly hiss my discomfort to him.

Which sends him over the edge.

“Oh, WHAT will make you happy then?” he demands as he sits up sharply, pulling my protective fortress with him, exposing me to the open air.

I bolt upright as well and hug myself, as if my own skinny arms will protect me as well as the blanket.

“Come on, Troye,” he goes on, climbing out of bed and pointing to the door. “There can’t possibly be every goddamn thing out there ready to tear you down! Be rational about this!”

I crawl slowly to the edge of the bed and manage to get to my feet, and when I turn to him, he looks hopeful because I’m up. But unfortunately, that isn’t why I’ve left the comfort of the bed. I simply don’t know what to do because he took my fortress away.

“M-Maybe I need to be alone for a while,” I say quietly, not wanting to admit that his stern nature is scaring me and I’m just too afraid to face the day just yet.

Jacob eyes me up; I can’t quite look at him, but I can see from the corner of my eyes that he’s looking me up and down. “Troye,” he finally says, “you have to get over this. We know who did it, we know who it was – you should be okay now!”

Which starts a fit of inexplicable crying. I try to cover my face, but it’s useless; he can see the tears, can see how weak and pathetic I am. But I find the strength to point out to him between hyperventilating sobs, “Knowing who it was isn’t the point, I was still raped, I still feel disgusting, it’s only been a week, my memories just came back so it still feels fresh, and now who knows how many people got off to MY pain on video, I need… more… time!” 

He’s quiet for a moment, taking in my blubbering outburst, then asks in a quietly angry voice, “How much more time do you need?” Not as a courtesy, but demanding to know out of impatience.

I gather myself together slightly and wipe my face with trembling hands. I look at him straight and give him the most honest answer I can think of: “I don’t know, and if you can’t understand why, then I don’t want to waste your time. Maybe I need to be alone for right now.” 

To my surprise, Jacob agrees, “Maybe you do, so you can think about how you’re letting this affect your relationships.” And as my heart skips and my breathing stops, he grabs his bag and coat and walks out the door without another word. 

Immediately, my stomach feels like it’s caving in. My chest feels tight and my head faint. When it actually happens, I realize… I didn’t mean it. I feel sick because I didn’t truly mean for him to leave. I just want… I don’t even know what I want. I want him here with me, but I don’t want him to kiss me. I want him here with me, but I don’t want him to try touching me. I want him here with me, but I don’t want…

I don’t know what I want anymore.

I crawl back onto the bed, hyperventilating, and pull the blanket over myself. My ragged breathing gives way to more tears, and I finally just let myself feel it – the exhaustion and pain, everything. And I cry the hardest I think I have so far. Until I pass out or fall asleep. 

  
Almost two hours later, I wake with a head still full of paranoia and sadness. I know now why Jacob was trying to get me to move – but I suppose I just wasn’t ready at the time. But now, I feel the urge to get out of the room, to clear my head. I pull on my grey bathrobe and let my bare feet do the walking without really thinking about it. I end up at the top of the winding staircase, but some noises from behind the closed double doors to the sitting room catch my attention, and I head over to peek my head in. I find them all there, PJ, Felix, Mark and Jack, scattered around the room, all on separate laptops with headsets on, playing some game. I instantly feel a strange sort of calm overtake me, and I slip inside as quietly as I can.

But as soon as I do, Jack’s attention is pulled from the game, and without hesitation, he pulls off his headset and stands, setting his laptop aside to come over to me.

“Hey,” he greets me, an anxious look on his face. “Are you okay? How are you holding up?”

I feel my heart start to quicken as I realize the others notice and are starting to pay attention. “Uh, nothing,” I murmur quietly, forgetting his questions. “I-I just… I just was hoping I could disappear for a bit.”

“Oh, sure. Hey,” he says, his voice taking on a big brother tone as he looks closer at me. “You’ve been crying. You sure you’re okay?”

I nod my head quickly, break off, then shake it vaguely. “I-I just wanted to watch, if that’s okay.”

He gives me a sympathetic look and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

I muster enough strength for a small smile and shake my head, answering, “Just keep playing. I’ll be okay.” 

With a cautious air, Jack nods at me, then invites me to sit on the couch with him and watch from his laptop. Suddenly it’s the only thing in the world I want to do.

As Jack sits next to me and slides the headset back on, I can’t help but whisper to him, “Um, just out of curiosity, since Jacob said you were the one who told him about it… H-How much of the videos did you actually, um… see?” 

Jack turns his attention back to the game, but softly admits, “I could only take a couple minutes of each, if that, just to see if they were really of you. I had to be sure. I knew it wouldn’t have been something you would have done, but I simply COULDN’T watch much because… Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but they made me physically sick to see, since I knew you had no clue you were being recorded. 

“Especially the second one. I mean, I know in my head what happened, so when I saw him hit you, I... I couldn’t look at it again. It made me too mad.” 

Jack stares at the screen with the silly game in front of his eyes, but his face is stony and angry. Seeing this reaction from him calms me even further, and I thank him in a whisper, reaching over to rub his arm briefly. I suppose the contact is a comfort for Jack as well, because his face relaxes and he slips back into gaming mode. 

Feeling a little better myself, I also concentrate on the game, and within minutes, I find myself actually laughing out loud at the four of them and the childish way they’re playing, picking at each other and making fun of each other. I’m especially amused by the flirty/irritated dynamic between Mark and Jack, and I’m near tears again – but this time for a good reason.

I can’t help but notice Jack keeps looking over to check if I’m ok, and each time I give him a smile and nod to assure him I’m fine. And for the first time in ages, I mean it. 

One of these times, Mark catches our visual exchange and teases, “Hey, Jack, looks like you’ve got a groupie!”

Felix immediately gasps and accuses, “Oi! That’s my page! He’s supposed to be supporting me!” 

I can’t help but play up to it. “Sorry, Felix, I guess you could say I play for a different team now,” and I snuggle up close against Jack’s arm. I even go so far as to drape a leg over his knee. 

“Ha ha!” Jack brags in a nagging voice. “You’re all just jealous!” And he blows a raspberry at both of them.

Felix laughs it off easily; but out of the corner of my eye, I catch Mark shaking his head. From then on whenever the teasing starts again, I surreptitiously watch him and can’t help but notice that Mark, even when not teasing outright, keeps glancing over at us. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if maybe Jack is just a little more right than he knows.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troye gets some presents; three weeks later; Jacob’s big mistake

Troye

Jacob comes back Saturday night and we make up, although not in the way he hopes. He tries a few times to push a little further than a hug and a short kiss, but I simply grow jittery and have to pull away. I can feel his frustration building, but he’s a good sport and manages a meek smile of forgiveness every time. Despite this, he stays anyway so I can get some sleep, which I thank him for repeatedly.

The next morning, after I’ve put on about three layers of clothes, we go out to breakfast together. It’s a quiet meal, but I offer him a smile every time I catch his eye. He returns it, but it doesn’t fit the rest of his expression and I feel awkward instead. It’s one of the most uncomfortable meals I ever manage to sit through. I try to start a conversation a few times, but his short answers and distracted demeanor make me wonder if we truly did make up at all. 

I’m thankful when we get back to the house and Phil and Dan are at the dining room table, having their own breakfast. They inform me then that Jack stopped in while we were out to give me something, and that they let him go upstairs to leave it on my bed. They don’t know what it is, but I have my suspicion that I do. 

But once Jacob and I get to my room, my suspicion is proven wrong - there’s definitely a box on my bed, but joints aren’t typically kept in a box this big. There’s a note taped to the outside, which Jacob reads as I pull a medium-sized blue and white laptop out of the box, my jaw hanging open. 

“‘Dear Troye, I know you have a uni PC for your work—‘ dear God, his writing is atrocious! And he printed! ‘—but I thought you might like one just for fun. It can play CDs, DVDs and Blu-Ray, and it’s Internet capable. Also included some music writing/recording programs specifically for piano and voice. I threw in a journal program that you can number lock to keep it private; I just thought you may benefit from having some place to write your thoughts and feelings without worrying about what others may think. I know it helped me a lot when I was in therapy.’ Oh, he’s been in therapy, huh? Wonder what THAT’S about...”

“Probably his ADD, or maybe some other things that aren’t our business,” I answer testily.

“Just saying... HE wrote it. Anyway, ‘There’s also a photography editing program Jacob might like to use.’”

I turn to give him a wry smirk. He fakes a smile that turns into a sneer before continuing, “‘I hope you like it. Let me know if you want any other programs, I might have them to install. Don’t worry – I do this a lot. It’s just a fun hobby. Jack.’”

Both of us are stunned because it has no logo or trademark - it’s a custom-made laptop built from scratch, created specifically for ME. When I turn it on, it even plays Fantaisie-Impromptu by Chopin (one of my favorites) as a greeting and the background is a picture Jack must have saved from Phil of a group of us that he cropped to just me and Jacob, sitting together in the first floor front room in front of the fireplace, from only a few weeks before.

Needless to say, I’m beyond impressed, while Jacob tries to find bugs and problems with it – but he doesn’t know enough about computers to be able to tell much. It’s lightweight and has a pristine keyboard with very smooth keys. I’m simply in awe, while I can tell Jacob pretends not to be impressed – but even he has to admit that it’s “pretty cool” that Jack made it from scratch.

I bite my tongue to keep from accusing him of being jealous again. God knows we’re already on thin ice right now. No need to make matters worse.

  
That afternoon, while Jacob goes back to his dorm for a few hours to pick up a few things and work on homework, I go to find the boys in the sitting room playing another game. This time it’s a console fighting game and they’re playing one-on-one with each other using controllers. This means they’re recording themselves standing next to each other while playing two at a time.

I quietly make my way to the couch, watching patiently as Jack kicks the shit out of PJ’s character. The yelling and pandemonium is enough to make me laugh, but when Jack finally loses to Felix, he takes the time to come stand in front of me, leaning over to quietly ask if I’m okay.

“Great,” I answer, maybe only half-lying. Honestly, I feel better now that Jacob is gone for a while and I can watch these fools be childish boys for a little. I admit to him that Jacob and I argued yesterday but that we made up.

Jack smiles with relief. “Good. Don’t like when my friends are upset.”

I go on to thank him profusely for the laptop, and as if that jogs his memory, he suddenly grabs his backpack and pulls out a cigarette pack, handing it to me discreetly, his back to the camera so it won’t pick it up.

I open it to find ten neatly rolled joints. I blink several times, counting and recounting them. 

“Like I said,” Jack repeats, “I’d say you should probably stick to one per night, mainly to help you sleep. But I included a couple extra just in case you, like, wanted a little more a couple times. Like, say, over the weekend or whatever. Just for fun.”

I’m truly stunned, just realizing how much thought he put into this. But then, I shouldn’t be; the guy MADE me my own fucking LAPTOP.

I ask how much of his stash that was.

Jack says, “Oh, I just asked for extra. You’re not takin’ anythin’ from me, don’t worry.” 

“Well, how much do I owe you? I can go get it now.” I start to stand and he holds his hands up, gesturing for me to stay seated. 

He smiles and shakes his head. “Not a bother. Just hope it helps you out a bit.” 

“Jack...” I say in a warning tone; I know where this is heading. And I won’t allow it. “No, really, how much is it? Between this and the laptop, you’re spoiling me! Can’t I compensate you for any of it?” 

But Jack just smiles again and shakes his head, and before I can argue, he goes back to the other guys because it’s his turn. 

So to get him back, before the next round can even start, I haul myself off the couch and go over to him while he’s paying attention to the screen, and knowing the camera is recording, I kiss him on the cheek for everyone to see, say, “Thank you,” then go back to the couch. 

Jack is so thrown that he spins around just as the round starts, and within three quick moves, Mark has utterly destroyed his game character. The others laugh at him hysterically, Mark yelling, “That’s staying in!”

He catches eyes with me and smirks, then, completely unfettered, turns to the camera and explains, “That’s my cheerleader.”

  
Three weeks later, it’s the end of November, and Logan has been officially out of the house for just as long, awaiting his trial for sentencing while in his parents’ custody. He’s since been expelled from Baines and may be facing jail time. There’s also been a restraining order put in place to keep him away from me specifically, and the school campus in general. 

Even with Logan out of the house, I’m still uncomfortable in my own skin and jittery, needing therapy a few times a week (and bawling my eyes out at almost every damn session). Jacob sleeps with me nearly every night - and every night he does, he tests my immovable boundaries to much disappointment. On the rare night he can’t stay, I end up pulling an all-nighter, too afraid to sleep, so I work on writing music, playing around on my new laptop, or working ahead in my classes. 

But where this is also problematic is at my job. I am ridiculously disconcerted and wary while trying to model, feeling awkward and scared in front of the camera. I cut my hours down to only two days per week. Jacob tries to talk me out of it, saying if I shy away from it more I’ll only stay scared, but I find my therapy is more helpful and useful, and the timing cuts into modeling. I don’t plan on continuing being a model for very long because of my music, so I don’t feel any loss except I don’t have as much money. I start trying to think of a different way to get part-time work, but even this is problematic.

My anxiety has gotten really bad since my memories returned. I’m unsure of whom I can trust or who’s seen the videos of me. I won’t go many places alone. I cover up more with layered clothes, wearing a lot of shirts with extra-long sleeves or gloved cuffs. I wear make-up most days so I look a little different than in the videos where my leftover make-up from the agency was barely visible. I often get mistaken for a girl - and I don’t correct people. 

Overall, I prefer to either be in my room playing on my laptop, watching the guys play video games, or at the piano in my practice room at Swope - usually with Jack beside me.  
  
I finally realized that Jack goes to Swope too the Monday after he gave me my laptop. We just happened to run into each other - literally, as we were both rounding the same corner going in opposite directions. Of course he was a sweetheart and helped me collect the books I’d dropped, all while we talked about how startled we were to see each other - he didn’t know my practice lessons were in the afternoon, while I didn’t know he was going to Baines for anything to do with music. It turns out he’s majoring in Music Education with a minor in Percussion (though he plays multiple instruments). Last semester he was student teaching at a local junior high, while he had his naturally dark hair, wore suits and glasses to look professional, and rode his bike there every day since he doesn’t have car. So he wasn’t at Swope very much, which explains why I never saw him around. 

My first semester was spent in classrooms and lecture halls for general courses. My second was mostly at Swope, while Jack was student teaching. This semester we just missed each other until then, since Jack also has a job at the university radio station and spends a lot of time there too. I kind of want to brag about the fact that he’s actually a workaholic to Jacob, who takes him for just a pothead burnout. I don’t know why, it just feels validating somehow.

We exchanged numbers and Jack offered his help if I ever need anything because he’s been there longer and knows almost all the professors. Since then we’ve hung out at the caf, at Swope, and more at the house, either with friends or just the two of us, becoming better friends.

Jack’s percussion lessons are in the early morning with a class or two afterwards, while my practice lessons are in the early afternoon, with classroom lessons in the morning. Jack used to just goof off on campus for two hours until he went to the radio station, but after that collision in the hallway, he started spending that time sitting in on my practice lessons or getting something to eat with me at the caf. His other classes are scattered throughout the week. 

Then Jacob picks me up to go to the modeling agency or home before my therapy appointment, and Jack goes to his job at the radio station. Sometimes, at my urging, he’ll give Jack a ride to the station, but I noticed early on that Jacob gets more agitated when I do this. I think Jack picked up on it too so he started insisting he was fine to walk. For some reason, I think Jacob might not like me hanging out with Jack so much.

One time during a vocal lesson Jack sat in on, my professor asked him to duet with me so I could hear how the song was supposed to sound with both parts. I was startled but it turned out that professor was familiar with Jack and knew he can sing.

To my pleasant surprise, our voices blended well together and the professor said that we should duet more often. Later I asked him how he learned to sing like that, and the annoying prick said he just does it for fun, that “It’s just a HOBBY.” Again with the hobbies! He added that he writes his own music on the side. 

So of course, at my request, Jack gave me a homemade cd of some of his songs, and I timidly offered Jack one of my own piano (with some voice) cds, if he was interested. To my delight, he was really excited because, “You wouldn’t think it, but I LOVE piano, I just can’t play it as well as I’d like. Maybe you could teach me. And of course you have a beautiful voice, but I already knew that.” 

I started listening to Jack’s cd repeatedly, a mix of low-fi Industrial and metal but with actual sung vocals that hardly sound like the Jack I know, except for the same slightly husky quality he has to his speaking voice. (Which is pretty damn sexy...) His voice is a relatively high register for a male, though not really feminine, and carries that bit of a rasp that would normally suggest a smoker, even if he only smokes weed - and even that is usually only once every few days, he admits, maybe more if he’s stressed out or feeling depressed. It’s somehow a comforting voice, which can go from being low and soothing to high-pitched and silly within seconds. I’m just fascinated by it. 

And yet his impersonations of others, like of Mark, who has a deep, sultry voice, are dead-on. I can’t explain how he does it but his voice is simply another instrument he can expertly manipulate.

I start toying with the idea of writing together with him sometime. 

Jacob, on the other hand, becomes annoyed that I’ve started wearing earbuds to bed to listen to the cd using my laptop set up on the nightstand.  


A cold night in late November, after weeks of trying to force myself to get into the idea of being with my boyfriend again, I’m finally feeling strong enough to give it more of a chance. I’m not sure why - maybe I’m getting used to my shifted life, maybe I just miss him this much, but on a night after my therapy, Jacob shows up a little later than usual. It’s around eleven when he comes in, but I don’t even care, don’t question it at all. He pulls off his coat to reveal his loose, wrinkled clothing and messy hair, looking exhausted or even haggard. I hesitate a little, but I can’t help but find his disheveled appearance pretty darn sexy. 

Already in my night clothes, I urge him to lie down on the bed and climb on top of him, straddling his waist and leaning in to nuzzle his neck.

“Hey, you,” he smiles, and seems surprised when I kiss him deeply, running my hands over his chest. When I shift my hips slightly, he pulls away a little, wincing.

“You okay?” I check, flicking his lower lip with my tongue. “I-I think... I might be ready,” I whisper.

Jacob blinks at me, raising his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Mm-hm,” I nod, slipping back to his neck. But the moment I start nibbling, he sucks in a sharp breath, sounding pained.

“Y’know what, babe?” he sighs reluctantly. “Maybe not tonight. I’m just...”

I tilt my head to the side as I pull back and study his overly sensitive neck, which usually isn’t that sensitive at all. I squint when I notice a slightly darker patch than the rest of his skin.

“...not really in the mood right now. Kinda tired, kinda sore...”

“Huh.” I reach out and poke the dark patch, making him gasp. I give a start myself, then inform him, “Babe, I think you’ve got a bruise or something there. What happened?”

Jacob suddenly sits up straight, feeling his neck blindly before practically tossing me off of himself and scrambling off the bed, cursing under his breath.

Confused, I follow him as he walks quickly out of the room and down the hallway, around to the other hall and finally ending up at the vacant bathroom. He flicks the light on, then finds the mirror light and adds that as well. I watch curiously as he searches his neck for the mysterious bruise.

To my shock, instead of sounding perplexed, he mutters angrily, “Damnit, I always tell him not to leave a mark.”

...what?

He doesn’t realize I’m right behind him, does he?

I scare the shit out of him as I ask, “A mark?”

He whirls around to me, his eyes huge.

“You mean a hickey, right?” I suddenly don’t feel quite as confused. Let down, disappointed, maybe even a little crushed. But not confused. “Who is he? I didn’t do that, you never told me not to but we haven’t been doing anything so it can’t be me.”

Jacob stammers through a few unformed, lame explanations before confessing lowly, “I... I kind of... made out with one of the makeup artists at the agency.”

Maybe he thinks being honest will win him points. But I’m hung up on a few minor details.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the door frame for support. “You said ‘always’ - so h-how many times is ‘always’?” 

He has trouble answering, probably thinking I’d assume he just meant today. When Jacob stumbles to, “A few,” I repeat, “How many is that? Three?” 

Jacob suddenly becomes sharply defensive, arguing, “You can’t put this all on me - like you said, we weren’t doing anything.”

“Yeah,” I agree with a nod. “Because I mentally couldn’t. Because I was RAPED. Did you forget that part?” I snap at him harshly, feeling all my trepidation from the previous few weeks melting away. “I’ve been trying to do my part in therapy to get to a place where I feel comfortable enough to be intimate. I’ve really been working hard for you! Aren’t you supposed to be there for me? I get that you’re frustrated, so am I! But do you not understand what I need? I need your comfort and support, not actual sex, and I needed time—I thought I was ready tonight, but now I’m not so sure if I want to be with you at all!”

Jacob shoots back, “What about what I need? Maybe you think you just don’t need me, when it’s really more like, what would you do without me, even if I fuck some makeup guy sometimes?” 

This floors me full-stop, and I repeat in a daze, “You fucked him? More than once? Because I wasn’t ready?” My voice cracks on the last question, and Jacob covers his mouth with his hands, as if just realizing what he said. 

I take a long, silent moment to think, then venture, “Is that why you’re tired now? And sore? Because you were just with him.” 

Jacob doesn’t answer but can’t look straight at me. I cringe and shake my head. “Making out is one thing, it can be easy to get caught up, I guess... But you actually...you actually fucked him? Several times? Not just ‘This was a mistake, I’m cheating on my boyfriend, and at a time when he might really need me—‘“ 

“Troye!” 

“No,” I snap bitterly, pointing at him and shutting him up instantly, “no ‘Troye’ this time. Maybe that speaks for itself. You don’t need me. You could have anyone you want! You obviously know that. But maybe I don’t need you either. I know I don’t need THIS. I really thought I’d put up with anything, because it’s you, and because I felt lucky to be with you. But maybe I’m tired of the pressure, the constant coercion. And all for what? Just...lies. And maybe I can find out what I would do without you. Maybe I SHOULD. Maybe I’m...Maybe we’re both better off.” 

My chest tight, I gesture to the doorway. “Please go. Just...go.” 

“Go?” he repeats, bewildered.

I hold my hands out helplessly. “You’re obviously not happy with me, so let’s just end this before it gets worse.” 

Jacob starts to panic now and tries to make me reconsider. He reaches out for me, gripping my shoulders. “I never said I don’t want you, I want you more than anything—“ 

But all I can do is shake my head as the tears start building behind my eyes. “But this is about need, not want.” 

“And I DO need you - you gotta know that I’m crazy about you, please, you have to know that by now—“ 

“Do I?” I ask, only half smartly. I lift my head a touch to peer at him. “It seems to me you don’t need me at all, any warm body will do, while I needed you more than anyone. But you’re not here for me.” 

“I’m here for you every night!” 

“Only after fucking someone else! Face it, Jacob - you’re not happy.” 

“I will be, once we can make love again—“ 

I can’t help but cringe - and I was about to give myself over to him tonight? What kind of a fool have I been all this time? 

“And now I can’t trust you enough to do that. Who knows? Maybe all I need is a warm body too. But I just can’t even look at you right now. Please, Jacob - just go, please. Before I get angry.” 

To help him get moving, I throw his hands from my shoulders and head back to the room on my own. I grab his shoes, backpack and coat, and I set them outside the door.

Then I close the door behind me, leaning back on it as I close my eyes. And as the tears start sliding down my cheeks, I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest and holding my aching head in my shaking hands.

Dear God... What the hell did I just do?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troye gets a lot of comfort

Jack

I feel like I’m sneaking out of my parents’ house as I slip out of Felix and PJ’s room after the others have either dozed off or are in a trance watching YouTube videos on their laptops. I try to be as quiet as I can as I close the door, but nearly give a start when I turn to find Jacob sitting on the floor outside Troye’s room.

“Hey,” I say as I head towards him, noticing how dejected he looks while leaning against the closed door. “What’s goin’ on?”

I stop a few paces from him, as he flat-out stares me down like I’ve just called his mother a whore. In the few passing silent moments between us, I swear I hear the faint sounds of someone quietly weeping. I glance at the closed door and then back at Jacob, my stomach churning a little with dread.

“What’s happened?” I ask with genuine concern, even if he’s glaring daggers at me for no reason.

Slowly, Jacob starts to stand, still giving me a long, hard look as he does so. He doesn’t say a word to me, though. Just looks down on me with a cold, dismissive expression as he turns away and marches toward the staircase to the front room on the first floor.

Baffled, I wait until he’s been gone a few moments before I hurry to Troye’s door, knocking as softly as I dare.

“Troye?” I hiss, hoping he can hear me. “Everything all right in there?”

Duh, of course not, genius. How can things be all right if his boyfriend just weirdly left and you can hear him fuckin’ crying?

There’s a short pause from the other side, and then the door creaks open to reveal his pale face with red-rimmed, wet eyes and damp cheeks.

“No,” he answers in a shaky voice, sniffling. “Not all right.”

I immediately feel my own face fall as I realize they must have been fighting again, and I feel just awful when confronted with such a miserable expression. “Oh, I’m sorry, love! What’s going on? What happened?”

Troye opens the door further as he straightens up, and he sighs shakily as more tears start to fall. “Jacob’s not happy being stuck with a frigid bitch,” he tells me sadly, forming a twinge in my gut, “so I... I let him go.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and put my head to the side, fighting the urge to just grab him and hug him. Instead I put a hand up on the door frame to keep my overly affectionate side in check, as Mark’s made several comments to the effect of I’m simply too physical and people here might take it wrongly.

I settle on a heaving sigh and saying softly, “Oh man... I’m so, so sorry, love, really.”

But Troye must not be one of “those” people, because when he starts looking a bit dizzy, he reaches out blindly and grips the front of my long-sleeved light sweater with both hands to steady himself.

Seeing him so dejected and on the verge of panicking, I abandon Mark’s warning and step further into the room, letting go of the door frame to instead reach for Troye’s pale face, gently brushing some tears away.

My heart feels like it’s breaking, seeing him so distraught as he tries to catch his breath while clinging to me.

I know it’s pointless, but I coo to him, “Oh, please don’t cry, love. You shouldn’t ever be so sad...”

He shudders slightly and looks lost, so I do what my instincts tell me, and I step closer, carefully wrapping him in my arms. He immediately buries his face in my chest and starts sobbing, trembling all over as I rub his huddled back. I feel him let go of my shirt, but only to slip his arms around my torso and hug me back, with as much strength as he has right now. His sobs turn to nearly wails now, but he muffles his voice in my shoulder. I feel the wet patch of tears starting to grow there, and I squeeze him slightly tighter, feeling just awful for how terrible HE feels.

“Hey,” I say quietly when the thought occurs to me, “um... Are you gonna be all right tonight? I mean, I know Jacob’s been staying with you because of your problems, but if he’s not here... are you gonna be okay?”

Troye stops breathing for a second, then shudders again, admitting woefully, “I-I dunno... I didn’t... didn’t think of that...” And he shakes his head, fresh tears causing him to tremble again in my embrace.

I bite my lip for a moment, then inhale deeply before asking, “Would it be too much... or too, like, weird... if I stay with you tonight instead? I mean, I’m no Jacob, but maybe I could be of some help?”

The mere suggestion slows the steady flow of tears as Troye takes this in and seriously considers it. He pauses for a long moment, sniffling, starting to calm down.

“I...I don’t know why you’d want to, but...it would be a big help.”

I pull my head back to look at him carefully. “Really?”

He shrugs slightly, as if to say, What’ve I got to lose?

“Only if you’re sure...”

He nods, a bit more certain this time.

“Okay.” I pat his back and tell him, “I’ll be right back.”

He reluctantly lets go of me and I head back to the other room to gather my things. 

Mark notices the movement in the room and sits up, asking if it’s time to go. I tell him I’m staying over, and when he asks why, I only answer, “To help Troye sleep.”

Mark looks puzzled and says, “Isn’t Jacob supposed to do that?”

I didn’t think of running into this issue. I don’t want to spread anything or say anything I shouldn’t, so I simply say, “It’s...a long story,” then rush out to get back to Troye before he has another breakdown.

I return to find Troye sitting in bed, looking timid. I laugh and tell him not to worry, I won’t bite him. He manages a tiny smile, but he’s still sniffling. I start to move to the other bed, but Troye says, “Um, you could... I mean, if you’re okay with it, do you mind maybe... sleeping here? With me? If you’re uncomfortable, I mean, I understand—” 

I’m startled but see he’s completely serious. “Oh. Okay. That actually makes more sense.” I use the other bed to hold my bag and laptop instead, then I undress to my t-shirt and boxers. Then I go to the other side of Troye’s bed and, hesitating briefly, I climb in next to him when he holds the blanket up. 

Once I’m settled, I ask how comfortable Troye is with it. He insists it feels better, safer. He asks if I’ll have trouble sleeping with the small bedside lamp on. He says otherwise it’s pitch black in the room since there are no windows. I assure him I’m fine with it. 

So then I let him pick how we should sleep, and while we lay together (Troye with his back to me, pulling my arm around his waist), I can’t help but mention that I noticed Troye didn’t seem all that happy with Jacob either, often tearful or frustrated when I saw him.

Troye sounds startled by this admission, mumbling uncertainly, “Oh? No, I didn’t realize...” 

But he trails off, so instead, I switch gears. “Maybe too soon to talk about it? Okay, that’s fine. Maybe... maybe I can tell you, then, what I was gonna ask to talk to you about...” 

Troye breathes a sigh of relief to have something else to focus on. “Please, I’m listening.” 

Hesitantly, I start off, “Um, I’ve been sort of paying attention to myself more these past few weeks and... I noticed that I’ve been distracted by some guys... There are a few that really caught my attention, and when I let my mind wander, I start thinking about... certain things...”

I exhale heavily before going on, “My point being that, um, well... I think... I think I might be bi.” 

When I hesitate, Troye takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. 

I squeeze back gently and admit, “It’s kinda scary... as I’m sure you know. But for bisexuals... It seems like it’s okay, even cool, for girls to be bi. But most of the time, if a guy comes out as bi, they get the evil looks and demeaning slurs... so I’m just not sure if... i guess I just want to be sure.” 

“Yeah, I never understood that double standard myself,” he agrees, his voice much stronger than it was not long ago. I suppose not having to think about his own problems at the moment is a good thing. Giving him a break from himself. “But I know what you mean.” 

“So.... Like, how and when did you know?”

I can hear a slight smile to his voice as he reminisces. “I think I’ve known pretty much my whole life. Knew I was just different than most boys. Around thirteen was when I met a boy I really liked and realized what it was that was different. I never told him, I was way too scared, so we grew up and went our separate ways after just being friends, but that was the first time I felt real attraction.

“I came out pretty young, fourteen. My parents and family were all okay with it. I really got lucky there. A lot of people don’t ever get the acceptance I did. Not just acceptance, but true support and, like, pride. I still felt awkward about it for a while, but I just couldn’t NOT be myself, so... I learned to be proud myself later. Went to my first Pride Parade with my parents when I was almost 18. It took me a few years to get up the nerve. 

“You might feel too insecure about it right now to go announcing it, but if you truly are, you shouldn’t feel ashamed of it. And you know I’m here to support you. You’ll find your real friends that way. Do you have anyone specific in mind that you’re interested in?” 

That’s a question I wasn’t expecting and almost choke. But I recover myself quickly. “Ah, kinda, yeah, there is one person.”

“Do you know if he’s gay or bi or what?”

“Um, he’s gay, I know that. But to be honest, I’m scared too. I’m really just not good enough for him.” 

Troye scoffs at that, fake-slapping the hand he’s been holding this whole time. “Oh, what’re you talking about?!” 

I shrug. “He’s just...a really incredible person and I wouldn’t be enough to keep him happy or interested. And besides, I’m not exactly the most attractive guy. He’d probably feel creeped out more than flattered.” 

“I think you should say something to him,” Troye informs me with a nod, then tightens his grip on my hand again. “And you? You’re one of the sweetest, most talented, empathetic guys I know. You’re caring and kind, thoughtful and smart—“ 

I snicker at that in disbelief. 

But Troye insists, “You are! I would never be able to build my own fucking computer, and you’ve done it several times over! It’s just your ‘hobby.’ That’s not stupid, Jack, that’s brilliant! And you’re fucking hilarious. If anyone got BORED of you, they’ve got something wrong with them. As for looks, that’s down to individual taste, I guess. But for the record, I think you’re gorgeous. And even if someone isn’t into you, they can’t possibly say you’re NOT attractive. You’re unique and adorable. I happen to LIKE unique. You have the cutest smile and amazing eyes. I’m in LOVE with your voice, speaking or singing. Really! Anyone should feel lucky to be with you.” 

I’m stunned by his words, not just how much he has to say but the things he says too. I stammer, bewildered, “W-wow... um... th-thank you?” 

Troye goes on, “Besides, maybe the guy is feeling shitty and needs to hear it.” 

No doubt thinking of his own predicament at the moment, which is understandable. “Well, I’m also kind of nervous because... well, what if he IS into it? What do I do then?” 

“Take him out on a date,” he answers simply, logically. “You’ve had girlfriends before, right? You’ve gone on dates?” 

“Y-Yeah....” 

“It’s pretty much the same thing, if you want it to be. People are so caught up in sex these days that they forget there’s such a thing as DATING. It doesn’t have to be extravagant. Something simple so you won’t have to stress too much.” 

I swallow hard. “And what if he wants to do... more?” 

“What, like, make out or something?” 

“Or something,” I chuckle, “yeah. I really don’t know - I mean, what if I’m screwing this up and I’m not really attracted? I don’t know how I feel about physical contact yet...”

“You seemed to do great with me, you said you liked it. I don’t see why you’d be worried.” 

“Well,” I reason, “you’re a great kisser.” 

“As are you. So what’s the problem?” 

I flinch to myself, staring hard at the back of his pale neck. “W-What if I do it wrong or don’t like it as much as I think I would? With someone else, I mean.” 

There’s a long pause between us, until Troye suddenly shifts, turning to face me. “Well...” he says in a low, hesitant voice, “if you’re curious to know... I could try something. See if you like it.” 

I blink at him curiously. “What’s that?” 

Keeping eye contact with me, Troye very slowly and carefully urges me onto my back. I oblige him warily, but feel this isn’t the moment to ask silly things like “What are you doing?” or “Why?” I simply allow him to guide me instead.

He rests a hand on my chest, deliberately caressing me over my t-shirt, which I find quite soothing. Still not breaking our gaze, he gradually moves his hand lower, until it disappears under the blanket, right where the hem of my shirt is. He slips his fingertips underneath, softly touching my bare belly. I can’t help but gulp slightly, thinking I know where this might be heading.

I don’t dare stop him.

Sure enough, after running his fingers over my stomach for a few moments, he slides them under the waistband of my boxers, gently rubbing them across my pelvis. I feel my breath start to quicken slightly, and I draw in a deep gasp and close my eyes when he reaches down further to connect with my cock.

He’s very measured in his movements, dragging his fingertips up and down my length sensually, urging me to grow harder as he touches me. I lay my head back on the pillow and open my eyes to see him watching me intensely, and my breathing becomes ragged and shaky as he wraps his fingers around me and starts stroking. 

He draws a few slight moans from my lips before I focus on his mouth and whisper, “C-Can I... kiss you?”

Almost before I finish asking, he’s leaning further over me, pressing his perfect pink lips against mine. It doesn’t take long before my hands are lost in his hair and he’s nibbling my lower lip to make me open up for him. Tasting him again feels so sweet, and I can’t help moaning into his mouth, pulling him ever closer as he continues tugging steadily at my cock.

I can feel myself getting closer and closer to an orgasm just by his hand, but he has other ideas. He pulls away from my mouth, breaking our kiss and leaving me gasping for air, but he does this in order to shift his body over top of me, sinking down and pushing the blanket aside so he can kneel between my legs. He releases me from his hand and slides both of his over my hips, dragging the material of my boxers with them.

Through the heavy fog in my head, I suddenly realize what he’s doing and I try to sit up.

“T-Troye,” I stammer as he pulls my shorts down far enough so he can lean over my naked middle. “You don’t have to—“

He crouches above my erect cock and I can make out the glint in his wide eyes. “I know,” he whispers back as he places his hands on my pelvis, drawing one down further to grip the base. “I want to.”

I blink rapidly, about to protest that it might be too soon for him to go this far with anyone after just breaking up with Jacob...

But then I feel the warm, wet sensation of his mouth taking my cock inside and I can’t get a word out. I barely realize he’s kept two fingers pressed upwards on me as he starts moving his head, up and down, so slowly, suckling gently. His tongue traces around my length tantalizingly, and my eyes roll back in my head as my head rests back on the pillow.

I’m lost in his touch and throbbing in his mouth, unwittingly letting out trembling whimpers and gasping with every bob of his blond locks. I reach down blindly and entwine my fingers in his hair, cursing under my breath as he slides his tongue over the head of my cock. It’s already by far the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten, and I ain’t even come yet.

Then he slides his hand at the base down further, as I feel him curiously brushing his fingertips under my ass, probing further until they’re prying into my hole. Startled, I choke on my breath...

But again, I don’t stop him.

As one long, moistened thin finger penetrates me, he lowers his head further and deep-throats my cock all at once. I let out a surprised - and surprisingly pleased - cry as my head snaps back automatically. I bite down on my lip hard enough to cut myself off - I don’t want to be TOO loud. But then what comes out is a hissed, “Ffffffuck!”

As he continues sucking me off, he adds a second finger, making me whimper against my teeth again, and when he pulls them outward, he curls and twists them, grazing my prostate every time. It causes me to make more noise than I intend to, but he seems to enjoy hearing me, and I simply can’t hold it in. And this isn’t just a case of “It’s been too long” - it fucking feels amazing!

I feel my stomach starting to tighten, a twinge in my gut, and I gasp to him, “Troye... I... I’m gonna...”

Before I can say it, he pulls back - but only to urge me, “Do it. In my mouth.”

I gawk down at him. “Are you... Are you k-kidding me?! I can’t—“

But he goes down on me once more, all the way, and I throw my head back and cry out again, this time too overwhelmed to quiet myself. My climax hits me hard, and there’s nothing I can do to keep from coming into his mouth. And he swallows it as it comes.

Shuddering and spent, I fall limply to the bed with a weary sigh, just now realizing I’ve been clutching the sheets since I let go of his hair. The muscles feel strained, and it’s a relief to let go.

Troye pulls my boxers back up for me, then gets to his knees. But before he can move, I rally myself to sit up one last time - and I grope for him, yanking him to me for a deep, heavy kiss. He immediately wraps his arms around my neck, returning it with as much fervor as myself. A long, passionate kiss that feels as mesmerizing as our first.

When I finally let him go and he pulls back, he grins at me, his eyes gleaming even in the dim light. “I take it that means you liked it.”

I let out a breathless grunt as I roll my eyes. “LIKED it? Really? Just LIKED? JAY-sus! I ain’t never come that hard...”

He giggles, then adds, “I suppose that means you know for sure now.”

I moan and run a hand through my now messy hair. “I guess so,” I say sarcastically between heavy breaths.

As I flop back onto the pillows unceremoniously, Troye shifts to my side again, leaning over me a bit to rest his head on my chest. I’m surprisingly more breathless than he is, but then again, it HAS been a while.

I swallow hard, closing my eyes briefly to revel in the aftermath. I feel him look up at me and he whispers, “Hey.”

I pry my eyes open and tilt my head to look back at his wide, darkened eyes. There’s a vague but pleased smile on his lips.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

I balk at him, reminding him with a chuckle, “Me? You did all the work, love!”

“No,” Troye giggles. “I meant for being there for me.” 

I shake my head faintly. “Nooo, again, I think the balance is a bit off there - you did more for me than I could hope to offer!” 

Troye’s smile fades a little and he gives me a serious look, insisting earnestly, “It really means a lot, Jack. To be able to trust you so much.” 

Finally having caught my breath - and my wits - I return his look of gratefulness, and add, “In that case, I guess I should tell you, um, it’s Seán.” 

Troye blinks at me in confusion. “What?” 

“My name,” I inform him. “Yeah, uh... It’s actually Seán. Jack is a pretty common nickname for Seán in Ireland. That’s just what everyone’s always called me. Even my folks. Mark is my only friend here who knows. I don’t know why, it’s not like a secret, people just don’t ask and I don’t mention it. Don’t really think about it.”

Luckily he doesn’t act betrayed or lied to. He just peers at me curiously and asks, “Why are you telling me then?” 

I lower my gaze, not really looking at anything but catching sight of his sharp collar bone. “Because... you’re special.” 

Troye smiles at that, but doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he lays his head down on my chest. He remains silent until I suppose he falls asleep. I lean my head back with a sigh and close my eyes, absently stroking his hair. I suppose it’s a good sign that he doesn’t tell me to stop.

Later that night, I wake groggily to hear Troye crying and whimpering in his sleep, and I can feel that he’s shaking all over. Startled and worried, I sit up quickly, pulling him with me as I do so. I say his name a few times, but it’s probably the movement that really wakes him up. Well, sort of wakes him up. He’s confused and out of it, still weeping softly as he says, “I couldn’t reach him, he was drifting away from me and I couldn’t breathe... There were these hands, just choking me...”

I hug him tightly and assure him he’s safe. Troye starts calming down, pressing his face into my shoulder. 

Finally seeming to have come around, he admits to me, “He cheated on me.” 

Shocked, I pull away enough to look at him. “Cheated on you? Jacob?”

He sniffs and nods, wiping at his face.

“Why?!” I ask rhetorically.

But apparently there was some kind of reason, because Troye answers, “He couldn’t wait for me to be ready.” 

I shake my head in disbelief, uttering bitterly, “No, love, that’s no reason. It was wrong of Jacob to treat you that way, not if he truly loved you.”

Troye keeps his head bowed, his shoulders twitching. “It’s probably more than that. He must think I’m repulsive. He probably blames me for getting raped...” 

He pauses for a moment, and then the tears start coming harder, and he curls in on himself. He briefly tells me about when he was younger, about the disgusting pedophile rapist who forced him as well. The thought sickens me, that he had been mistreated like this before, and the idea that Jacob knew and STILL wasn’t more sensitive about it. What kind of guy is this “friend” of mine anyway? And as for the pathetic excuses for humans who hurt him - well, at the very least, we know Logan’s finally going to receive some repercussions. But, goddamn, I wish I could meet this scum who did it first. I’m a pretty small guy, but if I’m pissed off enough and one-on-one, my big knuckles CAN do some damage.

But poor Troye is only upset about one thing at the moment, aside from taking on all the blame of incidents he doesn’t own any fault in. He’s still upset about Jacob. Though now that I know more about who he really is, I don’t see why he would be. But he’s absolutely fucking miserable, whimpering into his hands, “I’m the idiot who ended it. I should’ve just given him another chance—“

I grab him and pull him to me before he can go on, hugging him tightly. “No, love, not at all. You were absolutely right in what you did. How could anyone treat you like that and think they could get away with it? He betrayed your trust, something that’s hard to win right now. I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for the rape,” (giving him the benefit of the doubt even if he’s still a slimy motherfucker) “but he should’ve been there for you, not run off to whoever would wanna fuck him next! How is that being supportive? No, love, it wasn’t your fault, and you made the best decision. Neither of you were happy, for whatever reasons, and, good God, you are NOT repulsive! I won’t have you even thinkin’ that bunch o’ bollocks! You’re beautiful, you hear me? Inside an’ out, and you ain’t gonna try tellin’ me no different.”

Troye pulls back from me, looking up at me with a weary expression, and asks, “Would you kiss me again then?” 

I scoff, “Would I? Of course I—“ 

Troye cuts me off by kissing me first. I’m vaguely startled, but relax into it, holding him close until he stops trembling. 

When Troye breaks the kiss, he snuggles close to me. “It means a lot that you’re here for me, Seán. More than you know. You’re beautiful, too.”

Well, now I know he’s sleepy again, rambling on like that. But as I slowly lay us back down in the pillows, I stroke his hair, kiss his forehead, and assure him, “I’m always here for you, love.” 

And within minutes, Troye falls back to sleep in my arms.

Troye  
The next morning, as Jack’s getting ready to leave, I find myself growing tearful. He notices straight away and asks me what’s wrong.

I know I’ve been especially weepy lately, but I can’t help the discomfort I feel in my gut. So I tell him. I apologize for my actions the night before.

Jack doesn’t know why I’m apologizing, what I could possibly be sorry for.

“I don’t want you to feel like I was forcing anything,” I explain. “I mean, obviously I know what that’s like, so if I did anything you felt awkward with or didn’t like, if I went too far—“

But he stops me there, pulling me gently to him for a hug.

“No, no, love, nothing was forced. Nothing was unwanted - BELIEVE me,” he chuckles, “that’s the furthest from the truth!” He grows serious again, reaching to lift my chin up, and he reasons, “But maybe it was too soon for YOU, after just breaking up with Jacob. Maybe you feel guilty over that for some reason? Which you shouldn’t.”

I breathe in deeply as I consider his words, then nod. “Maybe you’re right. But...” I look into his lovely baby blue eyes and shrug. “I just really wanted to. With you.”

He blinks at me, a little startled. After a long pause Jack asks, “Do you need to hear it?”

Confused, I shake my head. “What do you mean? Hear what?”

He lets me go and reminds me, “You said I should tell the guy because maybe he needs to hear it.” He takes my hands in his, and I notice HE’S the one shaking a little this time, as if nervous, and he keeps his head bowed. “It might be too soon after Jacob so I don’t expect anything from you, but i wanted you to know I’m here, and if you’re even interested, I’ll wait for as long as it takes for you to feel ready.”

I stare at him, my eyes widening as our conversation from the night before comes back to me.

“If you’d rather just be friends, that’s fine,” he goes on. “I’d rather that than nothing at all. Maybe I’m just imagining it because I want to believe it so much, but I really think we have some chemistry together. But for now, maybe you just need to hear that someone is into you, even if it’s just the likes of me. Maybe it can help you feel a little better.” 

I’m stunned, to be honest, and I point to myself. “You mean you... it was ME?”

Jack is sheepish, but finally looks back at me. “Yeah, um, it was always you, you know. Since you first kissed me, anyway. I just didn’t know how to say... But you were with Jacob and I didn’t want to interfere with that, not that I could compete with him, but then you said it was over, and I thought, well, maybe I should tell him now, when he’s feeling pretty low about himself, but if it’s too soon, I understand...” 

I’m about to answer, to at least say something to let him know how I feel - but just then, PJ and Felix come in without even knocking to grab him and rush him out, not realizing we’re trying to have a fucking moment!

“C’mon, sex machine,” Felix teases. “Time to leave the groupies alone!”

PJ gives me an apologetic look, explaining more clearly, “Sorry, mate, but his first practice is in fifteen minutes and we need to hurry.” And with that, they drag poor Jack away before I can even get out a word.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troye’s sleep; a surprise for Jack; Jack saves the day (or night)

Troye

I don’t get to see Jack later that day between my classes. I’m a bit disappointed when he doesn’t even show up for my piano practice. That is, until I check my phone before Traci picks me up to go to my therapy session, and there’s a text from him, explaining that there was an emergency at the radio station and he had to fill in for a DJ who was ill. He makes me chuckle when he describes the guy as “a hopeless windbag cunt anyway,” and promises he’ll see me tonight at the house. He even took the time to type out “Good luck at practice, love.”

It’s not just a random endearment that tumbles from his motormouth, but a true sentiment that I know now he really means.

Sure enough, Jack comes to my room later that night before the gang does their gaming. As soon as I see him when I open the door, I smile. Just looking at him makes me smile, really. Just how he’s wearing his light blue hoodie and ripped black jeans, with a backwards baseball cap attempting to keep the green locks out of his mesmerizing steel blue eyes - he’s almost twenty-two but looks younger than me; younger still if his current awkward, shy demeanor is added. He’s just too adorable for words. How is the man going to be a teacher when he looks like the kids he’ll be teaching?

Then again, I’ve never seen him in a suit. For all I know, he could be quite handsome. For right now, though, he’s simply cute as hell.

“Hey,” he says softly, smiling back when he sees me.

“Hi.”

“Um... Sorry about today. I hadn’t planned on that, and I’d been looking forward to watching you play.”

He even remembered that it was a piano practice, not a voice lesson.

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “You have your own responsibilities. Wish I could’ve heard you.”

He blows a raspberry and waves it off. “Ah, it’s nothing special - just me chatterin’ like a squirrel and playin’ songs I don’t particularly like. I’m usually behind the scenes, only fill in when they can’t get anyone else ‘cause I talk too fast. But anyway... I don’t know, you can tell me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but... I was just wonderin’ if you, um, wanted me to stay again?”

I flinch slightly. “I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”

Jack laughs that off. “I see them all the fuckin’ time. I’m about to go spend three fuckin’ hours with the idiots. Can you believe it’s by choice too? But, um - oh - you know, we don’t have to do anything like last night. I mean, I haven’t even taken you on a date yet.”

I grin again and tell him, “I like how you said ‘yet.’”

Jack blushes again, scratching at his faint beard anxiously. “Well... you know... I just mean, um, I’d be happy just to stay with you. If that’s what you want.”

I’m so moved by his kindness, I eagerly nod my head. “If you really want to, it would actually be very helpful.”

His adorable smile creeps up on his face, and he assures me, “I’ll be back after recording.”

So I busy myself with homework for the next few hours, but sure enough, right after I change into my night clothes, at eleven o’clock, there’s the familiar gentle knock on my door, and he’s right there when I open it.

And so Jack stays over again, holding me so I can sleep. Resting my head on his chest has become the most comforting thing these days. We talk for a while about random things, but I start to feel groggy just being so relaxed with him. Although we don’t go nearly as far as we did last night, I do kiss him a few times, and I’m pleased to find it’s as good as it felt the first time. Falling asleep with him is the most peace I’ve felt for a long time.

Jack

  
I stay over with Troye a few nights in a row, until he feels strong enough to try sleeping alone one night. He doesn’t want me to go but I insist he needs to at least try, in order to be able to function independently. I tell him to call me if anything happens, but he should really try to take advantage of it if he’s feeling well enough. Troye agrees so I go back to the dorms with Mark after recording.  
  
I’m not yet asleep when my phone rings a little before one in the morning. I’m just in a nice, relaxed state. I’m not startled by it, but I do sit up in bed when I see that it’s Troye, slowly becoming more alert. When I answer, a high-pitched, trembling voice responds quietly, “Seán?”   
  
Now, Troye has a generally soft speaking voice, but it’s actually deeper than my own. But just now, he hardly sounds like himself, even more timid than usual and higher than even my tone. Maybe even panicked.  
  
“Hey. You okay, love?” Though I can already guess the answer to that.  
  
I can hear him trying his best to stifle a sob. “No.”   
  
I’m automatically ready to leap out of bed, but just to be sure, I ask, “Do you need me?”   
  
That does it; he bursts out crying. “Yes, please.” No stuttering or apology, just a plain, straight-forward answer. I know this is serious.   
  
“I’ll be right there,” I assure him. “Wait for me downstairs.”   
  
And his meager little, “Okay,” sounds so defeated, it breaks my heart.   
  
I hang up with him and spring out of bed, flicking on my bedside lamp and pulling my discarded jeans and a random sweater on over my boxers and t-shirt. By now Mark’s awake too and he turns his own light on.  
  
“Emergency?” he asks.   
  
I quickly pack my bag with the following day’s books I’ll need for class, then grab my leather coat as I explain the situation to Mark. I tell him I plan to bike over but when he hears that, he’ll have none of it. He’s already up and getting dressed himself as he informs me he’ll drive me and pick me up the next morning. I offer a relieved thank you and wait for him to finish dressing. I really would bike over if I needed to, but in this cold, a warm car ride sounds much better.  
  
As we start to go, me ahead of him, Mark suddenly reaches beyond my shoulder to close the door before I can leave, taking my backpack from me when I whirl around.   
  
Mark stammers out, “I’m sorry... I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just... Are you sure you should be getting this involved?”   
  
I squint at him, not sure I believe what I’m hearing. “Involved? He’s my friend and he needs me. That’s all I need to know.”   
  
“And I know YOU, Jack. You’ve got a good heart. A huge heart. I also know how you really feel about him.”   
  
I hesitate, feeling a blush start to creep from my neck to my face. Blushes do not look good on Irishmen. People just assume you’re drunk.  
  
“You’d do anything for your friends - and he means more to you than that. If he takes advantage of that...”   
  
“Takes advantage?” My irritation is starting to show through my repetition of his silly words. If not the scowl on my face.  
  
“He’s going through a lot of shit right now, he may not realize if he’s just using you. What if you get hurt?”   
  
After a moment of gawking at him, I grab my bag back. “I’m not a child,” I snap at him. “I know what I’m doing. I basically AM involved by now, whether I’m the real thing for him or just a rebound. Yes, I said rebound - I am familiar with the word! Either way, I don’t care, as long as it gets him through it. So it’s too late to back out now, not that I even want to. And Troye wouldn’t do that, it’s not like him to be purposefully malicious.”   
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply any of that. Like I said, he may not realize he’s doing it. It’s just... We’ve known each other for years and maybe hugged twice. We’ve had our...moments, our jokes, but nothing very clear or blunt. You know him a few months and he’s sucking your dick—“   
  
I feel my defenses shoot up immediately, hissing at him angrily, “Just because I let that slip in confidence doesn’t mean you get to use it against me - OR him.”   
  
“I’m just concerned, okay?” He holds his hands up in surrender - but then continues, “But this is all just happening way too fast.”   
  
I let a silence fall between us for a few long moments, forcing myself to calm down. Thinking more rationally, I can only think that Mark is being difficult - he says he doesn’t mean to, but he IS - because he might just be lonely, and maybe seeing me with Troye is stressful for him.   
  
I let out a breath and try to reason with him, “Look, man, I know what it might look like, but we’re not, like, dating. I’m just sleeping with him - literally,” I reiterate quickly before he can jump on it, “SLEEPING with him - until he’s able to spend the night alone.”   
  
“And you don’t think you can form a bond doing that?”   
  
“Well... yeah, sure, we do have... a sort of bond, I guess. We’ve gotten closer as friends the last few weeks. He does seem to like kissing me recently... But there’s nothing ‘official,’ nothing definite between us, it’s not quite like what you think it is. He might find someone new tomorrow and if it makes him happy, that would be great. But him and me - we’re not, like, together.”   
  
“Not yet maybe - but I know you. You’ll win him over if you keep being so accommodating. And just by being YOU. You may not believe or understand this but you’re hard to resist.”

“What’s so hard about it? You punch me in the face, I go away! Easy as that.”

He gives me a stern look and continues, “But right now he’s really only using you to get some sleep.”   
  
“Okay,” I sigh, seeing he’s not really getting it. “So say it’s really that shallow - which I don’t think it is. So maybe it develops from a bond of friendship and temporary need into something more - what would be so bad about that? It has to start somewhere.”   
  
“It’s just... I’ve never seen you so enamored of someone. I’ve seen you with one girl since you’ve been here, and you were hardly interested. When you two broke up, you moped for two days. That was it. What if it happens with someone you actually love?”

“You’d rather I be disinterested in a relationship than really fucking into it? If there were an actual relationship yet—“

He sighs; I know, talking to me can be more trouble than it’s worth. Because I’m a stubborn bastard. 

To my surprise, he simply says with dramatic honesty and worry, “I don’t know what to do if you get your heart broken.” 

Goddamn him. Always being the good friend...  
  
“Mark...” I take another deep breath, refusing to let myself overreact. I look him straight in the eye and assure him seriously, “I’m a big boy. If things don’t work out, I’ll deal with it.”   
  
He looks sincerely pained, as if I’ve already been cast aside. “But a hurt that deep - I don’t think I could deal with it. I’m not sure I could take seeing you like that.”   
  
“Hey, if you’re somehow jealous of what I sort of, kind of have with Troye, trust me, I know you’ll find a girl soon, if you’d just ask someone—“   
  
Suddenly, in an obviously affected tone, Mark blurts out, “Yes, okay, I’m jealous of what you two already have! But just not how you think. I never had a girlfriend, I know you’ve realized this, but I don’t WANT one. Isn’t it obvious WHY by now?”   
  
“I really don’t know! I’ve told you before you could have anyone you wanted, but you don’t get out there and look! So I just figured you were too busy to—“   
  
“Don’t act so dense, Jack, it’s not just your friendship with him, your connection, that I’m jealous of.”   
  
“Then WHAT?”   
  
He stares at me woefully, as if my stupidity literally stabs him in the head. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you? You’re not this dumb, Jack, unless you really think so lowly of yourself that you don’t believe it’s possible.”  
  
“Believe WHAT? Make you say WHAT? Mark, stop being so bloody cryptic!”   
  
“Fine, yes, I’m jealous...” He pauses, wincing as he rakes his hands through his hair, eyes shut tight so he doesn’t have to look at me as he confesses, “Goddamnit, Seán, I’m jealous of HIM. I want to be the one kissing you.”  
  
I stare back at him, stunned, my mouth hanging open dumbly.   
  
An instant later, he reaches for me with both hands, gripping the collar of my coat and pushing me back against the door. And the next thing I know, he IS kissing me, deep and heavy, his tongue sliding easily into my mouth - I couldn’t move or speak even if I tried. I’m too confused to react at first, and let him do it for quite a long time before I gather my senses and pull away from him. Not forcefully or with revulsion, but simply turning my head until he stops.   
  
When I do, he lets me go, an apologetic look on his face as I grope behind me for the door handle. Finally able to stumble out of the room, I mumble to him that I’ll take my bike.   
  
“Jack,” Mark pleads, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you - I’m SORRY....”   
  
Swallowing hard, I stand in the hallway as I sling my backpack on, not knowing how to respond to his apology.   
  
“I-I’ll see you later,” I finally say, and start to walk away, my heart racing in my chest.  
  
He follows after me, reaching for my arm but not quite getting a grip.   
  
“Jack, wait... Please let me drive you, it’ll just be safer. Please? I... SEÁN!”   
  
But not even hearing my real name stops me. I’m hesitant, I slow down and glance back at him uncertainly, not sure what to do. But I don’t stop.  
  
I finally decide it would be best to just go at this point. Put this whole new can of worms aside for the night so I can concentrate on what really needs my attention.   


  
Troye

  
I’m sitting on the couch in the front room with the light on, anxiously biting my nails, when I hear a soft knock at the door and see Jack peering in. Immediately I bolt over and let him in, throwing myself into his arms before he can even take his bag off, a sobbing, shaking and apologizing mess. As usual, Jack is extremely kind and just holds me, stroking my hair and saying, “No no no, love, no apologies. It’s okay, I’m right here now, you’re safe.”   
  
Somehow he gets me back over to sit on the couch, though I can’t seem to release my grip on his arms. Using his gentle prompting, he manages to pull out of me that I had slept for an hour before waking up in tears, in a panic, my heart pounding. I couldn’t breathe, and I had been shaking all over - even worse than I am now. I can’t remember my dream for the life of me, but it had been pretty bad because I’m still terrified.  
  
Jack must have a sixth sense about this though, because everything he tells me feels like the right thing. “You’re safe now, love, Logan can’t hurt you anymore. You’ve got an entire house of people to protect you, and that’s besides me. I won’t let you go, love, I promise.”   
  
We sit together for a while, as he takes my hands and soothingly strokes them between his own - until I can actually feel him there with me. He murmurs encouraging words to me repeatedly, not sounding one bit put out as he does so, until I finally start to calm down a little. He guides me in a simple breathing exercise and I shakily follow along, and I can feel the trembling start to subside, especially if I close my eyes and focus on his soft voice.  
  
Then, after what seems like almost an hour, Jack squeezes my hands and starts to stand, urging me, “Come on. Let’s go try this again, huh?” He helps me to my wobbly feet and, one arm bracing my back as the other hand still grips one of mine, leads me upstairs to the bedroom.   
  
I can’t help but stand unusually close even while Jack strips to his shorts and t-shirt to sleep in, and certainly not for any sexual reason. I simply feel safer that way. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to find it too weird and doesn’t tell me to back off. We get into the old spooning position in bed that Jacob and I used to do, though I’m still quietly weeping and trembling a little.   
  
Then Jack tells me to turn around to face him. He doesn’t seem to like that other position, and I’ll admit I do prefer to be able to look at him. And when I do, he gingerly wipes my face clean of tears. Even as more spill over onto my cheeks. But he’s determined.  
  
I have to ask, my voice sounding scratchy and used up, “Why do you always do that?”   
  
Jack gives a half shrug, averting his eyes. “Because a face that beautiful shouldn’t have tears on it.”   
  
How does he say things like that and make them sound sincere instead of cheesy? Maybe it’s the accent.  
  
“Why are you so good to me?” I whisper in awe.  
  
Jack hesitates, then shrugs as if helpless. “You’re a lovely person. You deserve to be treated with love.”   
  
“But why do YOU do it?” I insist.  
  
Jack lowers his eyes even more and mumbles shyly, “You already know why.”   
  
I just can’t help myself; my tremors subsiding and his words shooting straight to my heart, I lean in close to him and very gently, very heartfelt, brush my lips over his before pressing them together softly. I feel him inhale deeply, hear the slight quiver in that breath, and I feel my body give a faint shudder when he reaches up to stroke my cheek. A different kind of sensation than what I felt only a few minutes ago. This is simply nothing to do with fear or panic at all, but a different sense of urgency. A pleasant one.  
  
But I don’t want to ruin this pure moment with anything too rash. So I pull back a bit after our genuine kiss and rest my head on Jack’s arm, noting that he smells nice.   
  
“Oh, uh, that’s good,” Jack chuckles.  
  
I can’t help my words of thanks from tumbling out of my mouth.  
  
“For smelling nice? It’s just some cologne—“   
  
I could smack him for playing dumb, but I just smile and correct him earnestly, “For always taking such good care of me.” I reach lower and slide my arms around his waist, pulling him to me and hugging him tightly.  
  
Thankfully, he doesn’t shrink away from me, but instead hugs me back with his free arm, his pinned one bending to reach my head as he runs his fingers through my hair.  
  
“No bother, love,” he assures me in his low, husky voice. “I’m here any time you need me.”   
  
And as I revel in the comfortable hold we have on each other, I actually manage to fall asleep. Peacefully.

I suppose I should feel frustrated that I still can’t sleep alone. But somehow I really don’t mind. This alternative, getting to sleep with Jack every night, is simply lovely. I truly do try, honest... but maybe not my best. I doubt anyone could blame me.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack confronts Mark; Phil loves animals; Troye is moving on

Jack  
I never thought the day would come when I would feel awkward about going “home.” But here I am, standing in front of this giant wooden slab, unsure of whether to knock or go in as usual. What a stupid dilemma to have.

I finally decide on a soft warning knock, then a cautious opening of the door to slowly peek inside to see if it’s safe... whatever “safe” means.

I suppose it means finding Mark sitting at his desk, pouring over piles of texts, lifting his head at the intrusion with a half-glazed, half-expectant look in his eyes. He immediately sits up straighter, removing his glasses to rub his eyes, and greets me with, “H-Hey, man. C’mon in.”

I peer at him cautiously. “You sure? I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

He sets his glasses aside and waves at his books nonchalantly. “No, no, not at all. I was hoping that, uh... It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” I tell him honestly, still hovering near the door after I’ve closed it.

“How’s Troye?”

I eye him up warily, but it seems he’s genuinely curious, so I answer, “He’s... okay. He was pretty shaken up last night, having more night terrors. But we got through it and he’s feeling better today. Not fantastic, but better. It’s a long road.”

“I’m sure,” he nods in all seriousness. “But it’s good he has someone like you, someone who truly cares for him, to be there for him. He’s... a lucky guy.”

I slowly make my way over to my desk and drop my backpack on top, smirking sadly. “If I could,” I murmur as I peel my coat off and hang it on the chair, “I’d just rip those bad thoughts outta his head and beat ‘em to a pulp.”

I hear Mark inhale sharply from across the room. “Yeah,” he muses, “I don’t doubt you would. I suspect you’d do just about anything for him, huh?”

I turn to face him finally, biting my lower lip as I nod silently. He obviously sees the determination etched on my face.

I avert my eyes then, knowing we’ll have to address this sooner or later...

“Look, about last night—“

But he cuts me off, standing from his chair and saying, “No! I don’t want you—“ He starts coming towards me before stopping abruptly several feet away. “Please, let me.”

I pause, studying the floor as I let him go on.

“I’m sorry. I went a bit overboard and made you uncomfortable, which wasn’t my intention at all. I just suddenly panicked and felt like I had to tell you... things you really don’t need to know.”

I meet his gaze again and assure him, “No, no, I understand. I mean, I know, like, you have feelings too—“

“But it’s more complicated than that,” he concludes, “because my feelings... are for you. But I get it, you truly feel something strong for him, and I shouldn’t try to interfere with that. I shouldn’t belittle it or try to corrupt it. I don’t doubt what you feel for him is pure. That’s just who you are. Which is one reason why I...”

He trails off as if someone’s just stolen his voice or punched him in the gut. But he recovers himself quickly, clearing his throat, and gestures to me. “I just don’t want things between us to change because I fucked up.” 

“No, of course not,” I insist earnestly. “And you didn’t fuck up,“ I assure him, “really, you just... I know you care about me. That’s really sweet, and I... it makes me feel good.” 

He offers me a bashful smile, maybe a little hurt. “But it’s not reciprocal. I know.” 

Unfortunately all I can offer him is a rueful look and the assurance, “I do care about you, a lot. More than you probably think. Certainly more than any friend I’ve had before. And I, uh...” I hesitate, not sure how much I want to say. But I finally break down and admit, “I think I have since we met. But I wasn’t, like, ready to think about it or, um, confront it. But uh, I guess meeting him, getting to know him, makes me... want to embrace it more.”

He nods, staring at my boots. “You met someone you’re willing to risk it for. Someone you’re not afraid to be yourself with. And that’s a beautiful thing you don’t want to lose. No matter what you felt for me in the past.” 

“Y-Yeah...” I cringe, knowing how bad that sounds. “I guess that’s fair to say.” 

Mark puts on a strained smile and nods. “Well... better friends than nothing, right?”

I let out a breath and nod back. “Of course. Always. I’d never want to lose that with you.”

“You know, I just want you to be happy. My problem is I feel protective at the same time.”

“That’s sweet. I really do appreciate it. And of course I want the same for you, and I know you’ll find it. It’s just... Troye’s willing to take a chance on me, and I don’t wanna mess up because I... I think... I’m in love with him.”

Mark looks slightly wounded that I’m unable to actually say the words about him, but for Troye, they just come tumbling out. But he keeps the smile on his face. “Then you should try to make things work however you can. And I’ll try not to be so over-protective. C’mon, little bro,” he urges, holding his arms out. “You can still gimme somekinda lovin’.”

I smirk, but I don’t back away from his open offer of a hug. He holds me for a bit longer than is necessary, rubbing my back, but I let it slide because I know he truly cares for me, even has strong feelings for me. Maybe he really is “in love” with me. Which I feel regretful over because it’s probably how I always felt about him but never acted on. Never had the guts to act on. And so those hopes faded, especially in the face of someone I can say those things for certain about now.

But still, it’s fuckin’ Mark. So I stay quiet, just letting him hold me for a while.

Dan

I believe most of us in the House have an affinity for animals of all sorts. We’ve all had different types of family pets over the course of our lives, so it’s only natural that many of us spend more time than is necessary talking about them, reminiscing about our favorites, missing them, looking up pictures of various ones on the Internet. But none so much as Phil.

The boy is obsessed. Every type of animal, real or imagined, has been his “best friend” at one time or another. Though his favorites are small furry things one can hold in the hand.

So it should come as no shock to anybody - and I mean anybody - that around the beginning of November, he became a secretive foster father to one such animal. I helped, of course, despite my initial misgivings about the situation, but he pulled his puppy dog eyes on me, and I have yet to meet a man strong-willed enough to resist that gaze.

I’m weak, okay?

It all started just after Halloween, when one of our friends in the dorms, Tyler, a mutual mate of ours and Troye’s, was nearly discovered by his RA to be in the possession of a particular Guinea pig. This near-giveaway freaked Tyler out so much that he begged Phil to take the rodent in, “just for a little while.” He strongly suspected there would be impromptu room inspections because the little rascal had squeaked a bit too loudly while the RA was raiding Tyler’s leftover Halloween candy.

Apparently it was seen as nonsense during a sensitive time when I felt the need to ask why Tyler had Halloween candy in the first place, by both him and my oh so loving boyfriend. Apparently this meant that I didn’t “get it” and was “fussing over details.” I really just wanted to know if I could have some, but they were quite dismissive of my very serious question, I thought.

So we ended up with a bloody Guinea pig. And I got no candy.

We snuck him in on the Monday after Troye’s incident, and waited until the room inspections would be over.

We waited a bloody long time.

In fact, it’s now the beginning of December, nearly the end of the semester, with no room inspection in sight. And we’re still buying lettuce and carrots for this thing to eat on a daily basis.

So today, imagine my exasperation - and Phil’s absolute joy - in being asked to keep the furry blob over holiday break. I don’t go home during breaks because I don’t like to; Phil sometimes does and sometimes doesn’t, depending on his mood. This year he’s decided to stay in New York. To care for a Guinea pig.

Tyler, meanwhile, has to go home to Los Angeles to be with his mother - who has no idea her son has a pet - for the holidays. While Phil and I continue playing foster parents to his overgrown white rat.

I exaggerate my irritation, actually. He is a cute little bugger. When we know Alec won’t be knocking at our door, Phil will let him out of his glass cage with the mesh metal lid to get some exercise, and he’ll scurry along the hardwood floor like he’s skating, tiny innocuous paws clattering away, plump round butt wiggling sporadically. It is pretty darn adorable to watch and makes me laugh out loud.

Phil likes to put him on his bed and play with or pet him. I allowed it once - and after he peed on my blanket, never again. So now Phil puts down a towel just in case, but he refuses to forbid the little guy from being up on his.

And if Guinea pigs have feelings, this one definitely has an affinity for Phil. He’ll crawl up his arm to his shoulder, even try to climb his hair to the top of his head (but he’s not strong enough to do it on his own, so I give him a boost). Phil adores him, and really, for all my bitching, it’s worth it to see that giddy smile on his face.

Troye

After finals for the semester, the atmosphere at the House definitely shifts slightly. A few people, like PJ, Felix, Tana, and Marzia, leave for the holiday break. Because Baines is known for being a heavily international university, the option to stay during typical breaks is always open. I know I won’t be going home because my family simply can’t afford to ship me back and forth during the year, plus American summer breaks always provide courses I can take to ease my load for the following semester. I communicate regularly with my family via Skype and texting, but to actually go there would be too much hassle and money. I haven’t been back to Australia since I first came to New York.

Likewise, I discover, Jack has no urge to return to Ireland. Though his reasons are slightly different.

“My scholarship,” which I didn’t realize he’d received, “only covers my courses. We still pay for room and board, food, everything else. Which is why I got a job straight away when I started here. Can’t afford to go back, for one. For two, the radio station is still running so I get to make more money picking up hours of people who went home. And for three, I don’t really care to.”

He doesn’t elaborate much past that, except to say, “My family and I... We don’t really see eye-to-eye on most things. Best to just make my life here, as far away as I can afford.” He’s mentioned certain siblings now and then, in a positive light, but obviously none so endearing as to warrant his desire to return regularly. He as well hasn’t been back since he came here, and that’s two years longer than me. I sometimes wonder if he misses it, but all he’ll say when speaking of Ireland is, “It’s very pretty there. Very green, lots of beautiful landscapes.”

And that’s it. Nothing to do with family or childhood or anything, while I can - and do - ramble on about how much I love my family and reminisce about when I was little. He just smiles this cute, adoring smile at me when I do, and sounds almost envious when he notes how much I seem to love it there.

Maybe one day I’ll take him to Australia and he’ll fall in love with it like I’ve always been.

Alec, on the other hand, has family right in the city - but he takes his responsibilities almost TOO seriously, and splits his time between home and the House, checking in several times per week to make sure those of us who have stayed are still alive.

But the shift in the House came the night before people were leaving, when we all sat down for our last meal of the year together - not only were Jack and Mark invited, but there was just this almost tangible feeling of relaxation among everyone there. We didn’t have to worry over assignments or exams. Even Traci came up from his house to join us, and brought a delicious red velvet cake he swore he made himself. Phil was in denial, but Traci insisted it was true.

It was a loud, silly event; people got sloppy and even those of us underage were allowed to have the champagne Alec had bought for the occasion. Of course I indulged, though Jack grabbed the bottle from me after my third glass, warning, “You fill up on that, you won’t be able to keep down the cake!” Which was true - as good as it was, he ended up finishing my other half. (The boy loves his cake.)

It was the most fun I’d had in a while, besides watching the guys play video games, and I even got tipsy enough to lay a real kiss on Jack in front of everyone - no matter how brief it was, it doesn’t occur to me until later that everyone saw. When I wake in his arms the next morning, I give him an agonized apology. Thankfully, he just laughs and assures me he figures everyone else probably already knew. 

We spend the rest of the day lounging around and doing nothing, laying together and talking, then drifting into the sitting room to play a few games he thinks I might enjoy. I more than just enjoy them - I devour them! He giggles over the idea that he’s created a gaming monster. But the puzzle and story-driven games are my favorites.

I wonder aloud what the guys are going to do in the next few weeks, all four being spread around the world. But he reminds me of the powers of the Internet, and that they’ll be connecting remotely once a week to record and Mark will edit and upload the video from his home in L.A. So it won’t be as often as usual, but they’ll still be keeping up with it, he assures me.

And then, around six o’clock, he asks me, “Hey Troye? Would you... like to go on a date with me?”

Without hesitating, I grin at him and answer, “I would love to! Thought you’d never ask!”

He looks sheepish, then hazards, “Um... tonight?”

Startled, I sit up straighter, dropping the controller. “Oh! Um, what time is it? Where are we going? How do we get there? Surely you don’t expect me to ride on your bike pegs—“

But he just laughs, insisting, “I have money for a cab! I wouldn’t do that to you! We’re not in primary school! I don’t even have bike pegs.”

My face droops. “You don’t? Aw.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, a cab is fine. And you have plenty of time - just a movie and Louise’s diner.” 

Funny how none of us know the actual name of the diner where she works. We just all call it her diner.

I settle down again and smile at him. “Sorry. Got a bit worked up there.”

He pats my knee and kisses me on the cheek. “It’s fine. You’re funny!”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Am I? Hm. Maybe that’s an avenue I should check out.”

He nods at me. “Maybe. But you’re mostly funny when you don’t mean to be.”

So not an hour later, Jack is taking me on our first official date. And I couldn’t be happier.

Somehow the movie seems to fly by, even if it’s not the best film and a suspenseful thriller, and our post-movie conversation at the diner is filled with all the things that surprised us and what we would have done differently than the characters. Neither of us hated it, but it wasn’t going in either of our Top Ten lists. 

We only get appetizers to munch on and coffee to drink, but end up staying there longer than the film was. We start wondering what the holidays will be like (although I’m Jewish, I don’t practice, and most people here celebrate Christmas). We talk about upcoming courses for our next semester. And then I tell him my idea about writing some music together, and we’re off on a whole new tangent, both of us full of ideas and even wondering who else we could recruit (or trick) to possibly play live.

Somehow, for over five solid hours, I completely forget about Logan and what he did to me. And it’s all because of this sweet, smiling face across from me, and his sparkling, energetic personality.

So when we get another cab back to the House and he asks if I want him to stay, I silently nod my head and lead him by the hand inside and up to my room without a word. Because I don’t want him to stay to comfort me from my fears tonight. I have a much different reason to ask him to stay with me tonight.

Once in my room, we both go about our usual nightly routines. He brushes his teeth first and comes back to strip out of his hoodie and jeans. I go to the bathroom next because I take longer with my skin care - something Jacob got me into when I became a model that just kind of stuck. When I come back to the room he’s already in bed with the side lamp on, scribbling in one of his sheet music notebooks as I change into my night clothes. A lot of times I’ll catch him taking a glimpse of me changing, which I really don’t mind, although he seems shy about it, but tonight he’s utterly engrossed in his writing.

Instead, I’m the one who keeps staring at him through my slowed movements, just watching in awe as he tries to get out the music in his head onto paper before he forgets it. Not that he does, he’s confessed; if a good tune is a good tune, it’ll stick with him for days. But being a musician myself, I know how hard it can be to transfer it all to paper accurately, so I love watching him work because he’s just so fast. 

He may not be able to play the piano as well as he’d like, but his theory and writing skills are even beyond mine. And I’m not being conceited about myself or generous to him - I know I read and play the music as a prodigy, I have since I was five years old; but my writing leaves something to be desired. I always miscount or leave something out. Jack, on the other hand, can play on an average level, but he knows exactly what each note on paper sounds like in his head and can always recall the smallest details in time signatures, keys, all those things I tend to overlook. I figure I’ll leave the writing to him for now.

So I take my time changing and then picking out tomorrow’s clothes to give him more time to work. When I hear him close the notebook and sigh, shaking out his cramped hand, I slide into bed next to him and take it between both of mine, massaging out the tightness. 

He smiles gratefully at me. “Thank you, love. That feels nice.”

I just nod, leaning in closer to him to nuzzle his cheek. We settle down further into the pillows and I surprise him a little when I lower my head to place some light kisses on the side of his neck.

“Th-That tickles,” he giggles, though he doesn’t pull away. 

So I dare to take it a step further by clutching his writing hand in one of my own, and letting my free one roam down to his collar bone, running my knuckles along it, before dropping lower to his chest. I trace wandering shapes over his lean muscles and continue nibbling his neck.

“Gosh,” he chuckles, squeezing the hand he’s still holding. “You really know how to make a guy feel nice.”

I smile against his neck and venture, “Want me to make you feel nicer?”

He turns his head slightly, urging me to look up at him. He sinks even lower in the pillows, pulling me with him, closer against him.

“Well, you’ve already done that,” he says softly, studying my face carefully. “What if... I wanted to do something for you?” And he reaches around with his free hand to cup my cheek, stroking my skin gently. His nose almost touching mine, he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

I’m simply mesmerized by his steady gaze, his eyes darkened by the dim lighting, but I can still make out the bright blue of his irises. Without even thinking, I find myself nodding, and then feel the light pressure of his lips against mine. My eyes drift closed as his tongue slips through my open lips, and as slow and tender as he is, I can’t help but feel full and heady within only a few seconds. I return his kiss eagerly, feeling his breath on my skin and his fingers slide into my hair.

The longer he kisses me, the more breathless I become, and the heavier the kiss feels. But I welcome it, for the first time in what feels like ages, I relish how intense it is. My hand strays downward to slip under the hem of his t-shirt, slowly caressing his stomach and chest and loving how firm and strong he feels. Touching him causes me to quiver against him, and there’s no way I can disguise my desire. Part of me wonders if I’m being too grabby, but he surprises me instead by turning us slightly so he has the advantage.

His hand in my hair slips away and comes to rest on my hip, squeezing encouragingly. He pulls back from the kiss for just a moment to whisper against my lips, “Can I... touch you?”

I have to swallow hard before nodding, both moved and relieved that he actually thought to ask specifically. He still hasn’t forgotten the things I managed to put aside tonight, and I find myself falling hard for him just for that fact alone.

I nod again, my breathing shallow and trembling. “Yes,” I whisper back, and lift my head to continue kissing him. I pull my hand from his shirt to tangle both in his hair, the longish green locks brushing my face, tickling me faintly, as he leans over me. 

I try to pull him down further, but realize he’s actually leaning his weight on one arm while he rummages in the nightstand drawer with the other. He must have done some investigating at some point because that’s where I keep the lube and condoms. I’m impressed - and pretty damn grateful too, to be honest. He’s not only thorough but thoughtful as well...

As he pulls away from me to squeeze some lube onto one hand, he tells me in his husky voice, “You can tell me to stop at any point. I want you to know that.”

I nod my agreement, then I use the moment to slip my shorts down and off completely. He’s breathing heavily as he turns back to me, and slides between my legs at my own unspoken invitation.

And then, surprising me even more, he bypasses my hardening cock all together and reaches his lubed fingers lower, feeling carefully for my entrance and pressing one finger inside of me. I instantly moan and pull him down closer to me, needing to taste him again. While I encircle my arms around his neck and take his mouth with my own, he strokes me so cautiously, slowly, obviously not wanting to hurt me. He adds a second finger after a short time, and I whimper into his mouth with approval. 

My cock is aching to be touched by now, but I don’t even have to say anything - he’s suddenly teetering backward from me, kneeling between my thighs as he strokes me internally with one hand, and using his other to rhythmically stroke my erection. All I can do is lay back and revel in his touches, somehow knowing just how to do it right. I lean my head back and moan, my voice catching on a rather high-pitched whine.

Apparently seeing me like this, so open and vulnerable and trusting, must touch something inside of him, because I can hear him gasping as he gazes at me beneath him. And a few minutes later, he hovers over me again, still pumping his fingers in me but pausing in jerking me off to hold his weight as he kisses me again.

“Troye,” he moans against my lips, “do you need me to stop?”

I shake my head immediately.

“Then please... c-can I-“

He doesn’t even have to ask before I’m nodding fervently, reaching for the condom drawer before he can.

“God, yes,” I answer as I grab one of the packets and take charge of opening it. As he pulls his fingers from me and squeezes more lube into his hands, I pull his shorts down off his hips and roll the condom on his already rock-hard cock. He gasps at my hands touching him, but he wastes no time applying the lube before sliding back down between my thighs and guiding himself inside me.

And good god, does it feel amazing... I can’t keep myself from moaning his name - his real name - as I feel him ease deeper into me, and the look of sheer ecstasy on his face is so satisfying and alluring at the same time. Knowing my body is causing him to feel that way is almost as good as the actual feeling of his cock inside of me. 

And then he plants one hand on my side, the other holding my thigh, and he starts moving in me, long, slow thrusts, every one with the measured strength of one acting with such care and passion that it takes my breath away. He leans his head low to kiss me, our bodies rubbing together as he moves, and I moan into him as I can’t help but grab his now damp hair and hold him to me. It’s the dead of winter and he’s making me sweat like it’s a heatwave, my body trembling as he tantalizes my prostate and rubs my erection between us. I love how it feels against his hard, flat stomach, and the way he massages my thigh and squeezes my side is just perfect.

I tug on his hair, urging him to tilt his head back so I can kiss his long, slender throat, moaning into the skin as I suckle and nibble on it. I hear his sharp gasps for breath, and I relish how he sounds with every thrust, trying to stifle my own voice in order to hear his. It doesn’t always work, as it simply feels too good to remain silent, but I manage to catch a few of his sultry moans and feel a twinge in my gut over every one. He curses under his breath, lets me finish my artwork on his neck, then kisses me again even more feverishly than before.

I can feel him moving faster now, and I know he’s getting close. The thought itself makes me aware of my own state, and I let go of him with one of my hands and squirm to reach my own cock. He obviously gets the message and lifts his hips higher, and just that movement hits me a bit differently inside and I gasp, my head jerking back. As I grip my erection and start tugging at it in time with his thrusts, he slips his arms around my torso and hugs me tightly, tilting his head over me but not quite kissing me. I feel my orgasm creeping up, my moans turning to peels of pure pleasure, and with a particularly hard thrust, I’m crying out his name and coming over my fist and both our bellies. I’m so enraptured by my own climax, needing a few moments to come down from it, that I completely missed that he’s since buried his face in the crook of my neck and is pulling out of me with a weary groan.

I try to glance down at him, panting heavily, and ask, “Did you...”

He lifts his face with a bashful grin. “Hell, did I? Holy fuck...”

I chuckle breathlessly. “Yeah, really! Wow...”

He slides over my leg and turns onto his side to face me, reaching to wipe some sweat from my face.

“We should really, um, take showers, I think.”

I snort at that. “I’ll get up when you do.”

So he rests his head on my shoulder instead, bending an arm across my chest to run his fingers through my hair.

“You win. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

I laugh at him and tilt my head sideways so we’re touching. And I close my eyes and revel in the utter peace I always feel when I’m with him.

I don’t know how long I have my eyes closed, but it feels like a long time. His breathing beside me has regulated as my own has, so I assume, as I’m ready to drop off myself, that he’s already asleep.

And through my sleepy haze, I hear him using his gentlest voice as he says, just above a whisper, “I love you.”

My breath almost catches, but not quite. I feel my chest aching in that ethereal way that always happens before I’m about to say those exact words to someone.

But my voice refuses to work. My mouth won’t form the words. My throat feels clamped shut.

He doesn’t say anything else or move a muscle. I’m sure he was awake when he said it though.

But I keep my eyes closed.

That night is the first time in months that I don’t have a nightmare.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultimate happiness (Troye asks Jack an important question), ultimate sadness (Jack’s dysfunctional family)
> 
> If you are unfamiliar with Troye Sivan, the inspiration for “Troye,” watch this fun little bit: https://youtu.be/74Lm2gLSAgY
> 
> If you are unfamiliar with JackSepticEye, the inspiration for “Jack,” watch this cute little bit: https://youtu.be/M2MGA7DPBlA

Troye  
Over the following five weeks of winter break, Jack not only stays most nights to sleep with and comfort (and have sex with) me, but spends most of his free time at the House as well. With Mark in California, he says it gets lonely in the dorms, and he likes being around me and the others who have stayed behind. Even Traci gets used to seeing him, and reminisces about when he was a grad student and RA, and outside friends like Damon and Brian started practically - and actually - living with them. Traci and even Alec give him rides to places like the store when it’s too snowy or icy out, or to the radio station when he needs to get there ASAP.

The nights he can’t stay over are only because there’s a need for him at the station. Those nights, I give him my house key and tell him to come back if he can - and he always does. I deal with sleeping alone by sneaking a joint out back, then playing videos of the Foursome’s channel in the background so I can at least hear Jack’s voice, if not the cd he gave me. Around four o’clock in the morning, Jack will try sneaking quietly into bed with me, but I always wake up enough to throw my arms around him and pull him under the blanket with me. At first he’ll be startled, but I always get him giggling until he settles in next to me so I can put my head on his arm or chest.

Also over the next few weeks, I come to realize that... I do indeed love him, and want to say so, very badly. But I’m still too scared, even though I only hear Jack whisper it to me when he thinks I’m asleep. I’m not sure why he stays so hushed about saying it himself - he’s usually very blunt about his thoughts and feelings. Maybe he only says it then because he doesn’t want to scare me off and isn’t sure how I feel about him yet, so he’s waiting for something more concrete from me. 

But I’m just too nervous. For me, it’s a combination of what Logan did to me and my still experiencing some grief and guilt over breaking up with Jacob. I feel silly because I know he was the one to bring it on himself, and I really am much happier with Jack (even if we’re still not officially “together”), but I have this irrational fear that once I say it and it’s out in the open, everything good will suddenly go away. I don’t know why - like I said, it’s irrational. But I spoke so freely about it with Jacob, and somehow, this feels more precious to me. I want to be cautious now, honest but not too dramatic. I want to take such good care of this...whatever this is, friendship? Romance? Relationship? I want to take care of HIM, as he’s been taking such good care of me all this time. I don’t WANT it to disappear before my eyes.

So during my therapy sessions, we work on understanding why I react this way, feeling clingy and paranoid over losing what we have, and trying to power through it to reach my true emotions. In the hopes that one day, hopefully soon, I can reciprocate what I know he already feels for me.

And, just for indulgent validation, my therapist casts no judgment on me for moving on so soon after Jacob, and with my descriptions and stories, thinks Jack is a really positive influence on me - not just caring and thoughtful himself, but also encouraging me to be my own person and try my best to remain independent. (Plus I showed her a picture of us that Phil took and she said he’s a cutie, so no, I’m not crazy!)

But this very paranoia and impatience is what finally drives me forward. On another of several dates we’ve already been on, a day before Christmas when the only thing open is Louise’s diner, we go over to make sure she gets a good tip after munching on appetizers and coffee (again) and talking about loads of random things. We never seem to run out of things to blab about, though we do have comfortable lulls in our conversations occasionally which are perfectly normal. Like recharging for the next round.

During one of these lulls, I notice a man at a table just beyond Jack’s shoulder. I blink when I realize he’s staring straight at me. I sit up straighter, glancing around myself, then look back and find him still staring. Only now he’s smiling.

Feeling more than just a little uncomfortable, I clear my throat and Jack glances up at me, then follows my gaze to the guy behind him. He turns back to me abruptly, inhaling sharply.

“Hmm.”

“I just noticed him trying to get my attention.”

I see Jack’s shoulders visibly and awkwardly slumping, like he’s being slowly deflated, his head starting to bow. But then he sniffs loudly and sits up straighter, as if pulling himself together. “So... you interested?” His tone chipper as ever and suggesting he didn’t just try to crawl inside himself.

I gawk at him. “Am I WHAT?”

“Interested. Y’know - does he strike your fancy? If he does, I dunno, maybe go introduce yourself.”

Stunned, I stare blankly back at him.

“What? That’s how you meet people, isn’t it?”

I fold my arms over my chest and demand, “You’d let me do that? On OUR date?” 

He cringes, waving a hand dismissively. “What’s this ‘let you’ shit? I don’t own you, I’m not your keeper. You do what you want! I may not be thrilled about it - and, well, no, I’m not, to be honest... but it’s not up to me, is it? You do what you truly feel you want to do. No judgment, I swear.”

I feel a sudden change wash over me then. I realize something I could never put into words before now. Jack, he’s not possessive... like Jacob was. And that last little bit of hesitation falls away as I stand from my chair, having made up my mind.

Jack must think i’m going over to the guy because his encouraging demeanor fades and he slumps in his chair, looking away from me, as if trying to hide the pain of defeat.

Instead of going over, however, I stop beside Jack’s chair - and I drop to a knee beside him, shocking him. 

I vaguely register that I’ve started drawing attention from other people, but I can’t stop myself as I look up into his gorgeous pale blue eyes and tell him with a heartfelt tone, “Then this is what I truly feel I want to do. Jack, you’ve been there for me and proven you care for me more than anyone ever has before. You’ve done more for me than you ever needed to, without a fuss, purely because you wanted to and because you love me - and I do know you love me. I hear you tell me at night all the time...”

He glances around aimlessly, as if caught in some great conspiracy, and I hear him gulp.

“But,” I continue, “I also feel it every day, even when you’re not with me. I’ve been too afraid to answer you because of the things I’ve been through. But I’m ready now to answer you. I would be honored if you would be my boyfriend-slash-lover-slash-partner, officially and exclusively.”

Jack is bright red by now, as no one else who is clearly paying attention and murmuring to themselves hears me, so they must all think I’m genuinely proposing.

Jack laughs out loud unsteadily, saying, “Y-you must have eaten something funny—“

“I swear to you, I didn’t,” I insist with a smile. “I feel fine. Better than fine. With you, I feel safe, at home, alive - I feel loved. With you I can be myself again, and with you I feel happy.”

I reach over and take Jack’s trembling hand. “Seán, will you please be my lover? I need you to know how much I love you.”

Jack is taken aback - it’s the first time I’ve said it, and that isn’t lost on him. So, his face changing with pure emotion as he looks down at me, he suddenly stands, pulling me with him, and slides his arms around me in a tight hug. 

“Yes,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll be whatever you want, Troye. And I... I love you too.”

Hearing his words and finally not having to pretend I didn’t, I hug him back, squeezing enthusiastically.

That must be the cue for the whole of the diner around us because suddenly everyone erupts into supportive applause.  
Maybe a little confused, but supportive nonetheless, as I hear one woman on her phone cooing, “That’s so sweet! This woman just proposed to her boyfriend and he accepted!”

Jack obviously hears her too because he laughs and mutters to me, “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

But when he pulls back a little, his grin couldn’t get any bigger, and I kiss him, causing a second wave of applause to ripple through our audience.

When we finally slink back to our seats, his hand clutching one of mine firmly, Louise stops by the table and asks with a dry smile, “Would you two lovebirds like some complimentary celebratory cake on this, the night of your ENGAGEMENT?”

I laugh out loud. - but Jack answers seriously, “Cool! Yes please! Oooh, do you have cheesecake with strawberry swirls??”

She swats him over the head with a menu and walks away laughing. 

He looks at me with the cutest confused expression. “Was that a no?”

A few weeks later, after the holidays and the presents and my first New Years kiss, after everyone returned, bitching and groaning about getting back to work, I’m still flying high from that one date night, feeling like nothing bad could ever possibly bring me down.

Well, the good times can’t last forever. But the bad shit can at least bring people closer.

My schedule isn’t much different than last semester, except one class that runs later than usual, so I put my notice in at the agency and cling to my last few hundred dollars like it’s gold. Jack assures me that he’ll help pay for things I might want, as he made a killing at the station over break, but I can’t let him do that forever. So we really have to get moving on this band project. If we can find time between classes and fucking to concentrate on it (mostly my fault, I’ll admit...).

One rare day, I finish a lesson early that Jack couldn’t come to because of an assignment and before I can call the house for someone to pick me up, I run into Mark on campus. He says Jack’s probably done by now so I could go visit him, and he has to get a book from his room so why not walk together. 

On the way, I ask about his break, which he says was great, but Changes the subject quickly by mentioning he heard about my stunt at the diner, with a sneaky grin. 

I try to smother my smile, saying I had no idea it would be such a big deal. 

“To Jack?” Mark chuckles. “Oh hell yeah! It’s a huge deal to him. Not just him saying those kinds of things, but I think having anyone say it back to him is like a shock to his system. A good shock, but just...not something he’s used to hearing.” 

Startled, I look over at him. “The guy’s almost twenty-two, surely he’s heard ‘I love you’ before...” 

But Mark just shrugs and shakes his head. “Jack’s family is...a bit different than yours or mine. Kid is probably the only one with real emotions in him. It’s where and how he grew up. He was smothered there, not able to be himself without getting teased or bullied. By his family AND other kids. You know Jack - he’s a funny guy, but he’s also extremely... Well, he’s very affectionate, but he holds a lot back because of things he went through as a kid. Saying how he truly feels - it means a lot to him, but he’s sort of relearning how to do it. Saying it to you must’ve... Well, he must really mean it. And to hear it from your own mouth... Well, no matter what else happens between you two, you have a best friend for life on your hands now.” 

We make it to their dorm room and pause to listen. We can faintly hear Jack talking behind the door, Mark listens for a moment longer, then says he’s probably finishing a conversation with his mother, and pulls out his key to let us both in.

Quietly we walk in on Jack sitting at his desk, facing the window, his back to the door. He is indeed on the phone, and he sounds very nervous. Mark grabs a book from his own desk and gestures for me to go in further, but that he has to run. He closes the door almost silently on his way out, and I slowly make my way over to Jack’s desk, standing patiently at the foot of his bed. Jack is too deep in the conversation to notice me, so I hope I don’t scare him when he’s done, which actually doesn’t sound as close to “over” as Mark seemed to think. As I get closer, I also realize it’s more of an argument than a conversation.

“No, I told you, I’m, um, I’m seeing someone,” Jack is saying with slight exasperation. “Yes, I did say so, you wouldn’t let me finish... Well, it’s um...it’s not quite like that. It’s, um...it’s...a....a boy, Mom. I’m, uh, I’m seeing a boy, a, uh, another man...”

He stops, his face contorting. “Did you just call me a f—Christ, Mom! But no, not quite. I’m not GAY, as you so lovingly didn’t put it, I, um.... I’m bisexual... What do you mean, what is that? You’ve never heard of—it means I like both....no, BOTH. I can...feel close to both men and women. It’s not—it’s not unheard of, no, it isn’t! Maybe YOU never heard of it because you’re too busy saying your fucking rosary but—“

He cringes, his eyes closed, and wipes at his face. “No, no, I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean—no, look, please just listen to me for a moment, PLEASE just shut up and listen?... Thank you.” He opens his eyes again and stares out the window over the campus - probably not seeing any of it.

“His name is Troye. He’s Australian. He’s about two years younger. He’s another musician, we met last year and just kind of...fell into it together. He was having some issues and I helped him out a bit, and I just realized that I —“

He pauses, a strange shudder going through him, and when he speaks again, his voice is obviously affected, almost shaking. “Mom, don’t say that, please just listen, just let me tell you — I realized that I lo—Mom, PLEASE, I need to say it because it’s true! I...I love him, and there’s nothing wrong with...oh, Mom...please don’t say that, Mom, please... You know that’s not true, you’re my mother, of course I love y— What? Why? Why what? Why do I have to say it? Because it’s true! The question is, why don’t YOU ever say it about me? It’s not such a bad thing! It’s true and it’s easy and it’s—“

He cuts off again, going silent for a long time as the voice on the other end chatters on. And on. Until finally it stops.

“Mom?” he hazards. “Okay. Okay. You pray for me then. Yup. No, you don’t have to tell Dad. No. I’m not coming back any time soon. I just thought you’d want to know I...found someone special,” but as sweet as that sentiment is, he says so with such a drained, disappointed voice that it breaks my heart. “I just thought if you knew I was happy... Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I thought that. I’m sorry I called then. If you don’t want me to—okay, I won’t. However long you want. Okay. Four then. Bye.”

He hangs up the phone and drops it to the desk, making a clatter in the otherwise silent room. His head bowed, his hands over his face, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. He sniffles a few times, then wipes at his face, turning toward me.

Jack jumps back in his chair, obviously startled to see me. I offer him a small, sad smile, unable to pretend I didn’t just hear all of that.

“How’d you—“

“Mark let me in. He had to grab a book. He left a while ago.”

Jack’s sniffs sharply, unable to look at me, but I can still see the tears on his cheeks. He’s obviously embarrassed. “Weekly phone call to my mom. Was scared but kinda lookin forward to tellin her about you. Was always too scared to before, but finally thought, hey, she’s my mom, she’ll get it. Well, I guess she wasn’t ready to hear about it after all.” He looks out the window again as more tears come. I walk over from the foot of the bed and stroke his cheeks to wipe the tears away.

“No, love,” I say, imitating every time he’s helped calm me. “You shouldn’t ever be so sad.” 

Jack starts to smile as he looks up at me...then breaks down and presses his face into my belly, wrapping his arms around my waist. And this time it’s his turn to sob.

“I was so stupid. I thought once that they were proud of me when I got the scholarship; I was wrong. ‘Pride is a sin,’ they said. I thought they would at least say they loved me before I left Ireland; they didn’t. I thought at least Mom would be happy i’ve met someone and fell in love; instead she calls me names and says I’m going to hell and she’ll pray for my soul. Well, now they’ll have four weeks away from my annoying phone calls.” 

He lets out a heavy sigh, hugging me tightly as I stroke his hair. “Why don’t they love me? What’s wrong with me?”

I’m not as good at this as he is. But I lean over and wrap my arms around his back, kissing the top of his head. “I really don’t know, sweetie. I can’t see anything not to love about you.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s childhood; Piggy is staying?; bad news/good news from Traci

Troye  
Jack and I sit together on Jack’s bed, him in his hoodie and me wearing his blanket like a cape to keep warm. We’re facing each other and sharing a joint, with the window halfway open and a fan blowing the air out. A sandalwood incense stick - a gift from me to Jack from Christmas, after he raved over how much he loves sniffing my hair after showers - burns in the center of the room. Jack finally talks about his childhood, being the youngest of nine kids and having two parents who have always been more devoutly Catholic than devoutly PARENTS.

“I guess,” he admits somberly, “they kind of saw it as, they’d already had their brood, then here comes this straggler, years later, and they were too old for my shit. You know, ‘who does he think he is?’ It’s fair to say I wasn’t so much abused as neglected. I had to be loud to be heard most of the time, or else I’d get ‘left behind’ - figuratively and literally. They accidentally left me at stores a few times. I had to walk home from church on my own quite often. They left me on my own a lot when I was very young, going out and getting no babysitter - most of my brothers and sisters were out of the house by then. I was actually very quiet when I was young, a bit shy, and extremely small. My siblings pushed me around when they came over, if they didn’t already live there, because they could and I didn’t fuss much. I’m quite a bit younger than them, obviously an accident my folks hadn’t expected, so they and my siblings were all older. My next youngest sibling is a brother eight years older than me, who shared a room with me - much to his chagrin. I always got the feeling they all resented me, leeching the life out of these people who just wanted to retire but couldn’t because they now had to take care of me.

“It wasn’t until I started acting up in school that anyone noticed my issues that turned out to be ADD. My parents tried to ‘beat’ it out of me, I got slapped around a lot, sent to bed with no supper, locked in my room, that sort of thing. Until our family doctor prescribed medicine for it and insisted it would be better than punishing me. He also suggested therapy.

“I was about twelve. That was when I got interested in drums and started doing small jobs for neighbors to earn money for a small kit. Set it up in the farthest shed from the house in the backyard and practiced every day. I loved it - it was LOUD! Proof that even a twerp like me could make some noise. Saved up more money to take some piano lessons from a kind neighbor. More like my mentor, really. Couldn’t play too well but learned how to write and read music. Kept working and at thirteen I bought a guitar off my brother’s friend and taught myself. Every day after school, I’d do my homework, chores, go to my piano lesson or therapy, then my jobs, then practice my instruments until almost eleven at night in that shed. My parents finally noticed all I was doing - and limited my music practice until seven o’clock, including weekends. But I kept playing. Took my guitar and an old hand-me-down keyboard into my room at night to play quietly.

“By seventeen, I could also play bass, violin, some flute, and trumpet, all the instruments my friends played and let me borrow, which I would try to master in a week. When I was fourteen, my piano teacher tried to talk to my parents to get them to allow me to take more lessons, maybe in school, but they refused. She also taught violin and saw how eager I was so she gave me free lessons on that. Let me buy one off her cheap. Drums were my favorite, though, because I got out energy and anger, they were loud, and I was good. Well, I think I was good; my parents just said I was loud, which put a cheeky smile on my face. But I kept going and managed to buy a small mixer and made my own CD.

“A little before I turned eighteen, I learned about Baines and started studying even harder at school, applying for every scholarship I could. I even applied to the House, just because I could. I knew I wouldn’t get in, but I tried. My piano teacher helped me out a lot with that stuff. She suggested things to me whenever school got too tough. She taught me this method, I would mix some of my harder subjects with music to make it easier in my head, and I managed to make top marks my last year of school. I got into Baines, and I was just so happy that I could live abroad. Get away from that village, away from those people. The only one I knew I would miss was my piano teacher.

“Then the scholarship came through and I nearly shit myself! I promised my parents I would get a job to cover everything else, plus I had leftover money from the odd jobs I was still doing around the village. At first they weren’t going to allow it, accusing me of trying to take their money, but when I said I had a scholarship and the rest of the cost would be taken care of, they said, ‘Great, see ya.’ They paid for a one-way ticket to America, took me to the airport, let me get my things out of the car, and left me there with a dolly to find my own way. Saying they needed to go get lunch. That’s the last I saw them.

“To be honest, I was so busy with school, music and odd jobs around the village that I didn’t have any time to try weed until I met my buddy here who said I was workin’ too hard and needed to relax. He gave me a few joints, i started usin’ it whenever I felt I needed a short break, and six months later I turned nineteen. I still overdo it sometimes with work, whether at the station or with schoolwork or music, but I just love the things I do that I dunno when to stop. This helps calm me down, it centers me. Lets me breathe before I get burnt out.”

I wait a beat as he takes a long drag and then ask, “And your teacher?”

He grins, handing the joint back to me. “She’s all right. I talk to her on Skype now and then. I bragged to her about you. Y’know. ‘I’m actually dating a piano prodigy!’ Played her some of your CD. She was impressed. EXTREMELY impressed. And I said, ‘Well, you should see his fingers, they’re freakishly long!’”

After I kick him, I raise my eyebrows at him. “Oh... So she... KNOWS about you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Yup. But that’s ‘cause I knew about her first, so I wasn’t afraid. She was a little startled when I said ‘he’ the first time, especially since she knew I briefly dated a girl in the village when I was sixteen. But after that initial blink and ‘Oh, HE? Sorry, my mistake!’ she was over it. I admitted it to her and she said what you did - there’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I’ll be ready to be open when I’m ready. But I could tell she was happy for me... Happy that I’m happy.” He flinches faintly. “Just wish my own parents were that progressive.”

“Is she married?”

“No, but she’s been with her partner for over twenty years, so they practically are. I did ask once if they would get married. She just said it’s not something they think about because they’re already so used to being like wives. Too much to do in the day already, she said,” he chuckles. “Man... Growing up, you have no idea how much I wished I’d been their kid.”

I gaze at him sympathetically, a small smile on my lips. “I think I can imagine.” I snuff out the roach and set it in the ashtray on the window sill. “So, are you?”

He tilts his head to the side as he stretches his legs out beside me. “Am I what?”

I absently let my hand brush along the side of his thigh, watching him intently. “Happy?”

He smiles widely. “Hell, yeah, I’m happy. Can’t remember being happier, really.” And he reaches out for me.

As I take his hands and let him pull me closer to him, straightening my own legs so I come up to lay right beside him, I mention, “I just thought, you know... maybe because your parents don’t approve...”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “We can’t have everything we want in life. My ideal would be their acceptance, at the very least. But I can’t change myself just because they refuse to accept me. I would PREFER for them to love me and be proud of me. But I doubt that’ll ever happen. So I just have to accept THAT, and move on. Live my best life as I see fit.”

He looks over at me, smiling softly. “And that life includes being a part of yours.”

I give him a peck on the lips before resting my head on the pillow. “It damn well better.”

He chuckles again, tilting his head down to lean on my shoulder, then sighs. “Is it five yet?”

I pull my phone from my jeans pocket and push the power button. “Four-twelve.”

“Good. Still got some time before work.” And he snuggles up close to me, draping an arm over my belly and pressing a cheek into my shoulder. I reach under and around him so I can stroke his hair. Tangling the fingers of my other hand with his. And I smile to myself as the pleasant tingle courses through my body from the weed. Holding my man, my beautiful little musician man, and knowing this is exactly where we both want to be right now.

Dan  
Upon Tyler’s return to campus after winter break, I almost run into him and try to ask about the Guinea pig. But the sneaky little fucker gets away from me and shouts from a distance that he’s late for class before running off. This is when I start to suspect he has no intention of taking the furry white blob back.

When I mention our close encounter to Phil, he, of course, couldn’t be happier. And as he’s holding the Guinea pig in his arms at that moment, he clutches two tiny pink paws between his fingers and mimics clapping with a baby-voiced “Yaaaay!” to accompany the adorable gesture.

As cute as it is, I have to drag my desk chair over to the bed where Phil is sitting and sit down in front of him, trying to explain to him why this is NOT such a great thing, but a burden placed on us. One we now have to work doubly hard to hide since we aren’t home most of the time to watch him. But Phil just pouts and cuddles “his” pig, assuring him, “Well, whatever happens, I’LL take care of you, Mister Gandalf.”

I groan and try to explain that Gandalf was a wizard and didn’t need “Mister” in front of his name, for the hundredth time, but Phil insists it’s cuter that way.

Then I shake myself and remember that isn’t the POINT. We have a Guinea pig on our hands that isn’t ours, which we aren’t SUPPOSED to have in the first place!

“I’m sorry, Phillie, but we’re going to have to give the Guinea pig back, like, this week! If I ever get my hands around Tyler’s thr—I mean, if I ever get my hands on Tyler.”

“It’s really no big deal if you don’t,” Phil insists with the air of a clueless child as his attention is taken up by Gandalf waddling unsteadily up his skinny arm, even with a jumper on. “So we have an unintentional pet. So what? He’s not dangerous like that guy in Mark and Jack’s dorm who lost his snake last year.” He pauses to think, making a funny face as he does so. “Did they ever find it?”

“Yeah,” I sigh with exasperation. “Some kid down the hall from them found it neatly curled and sleeping in his underwear drawer. Now can we please focus on the real problem here?”

“Eeesh. That’s a good morning surprise that’ll wake you up faster than coffee—“

I slap my hands down on my knees, snapping, “Philip!”

He jumps a little, and Gandalf tumbles off his arm and into his lap. He immediately gropes for the little guy and holds him up to his cheek, cooing, “Ohhhh, I’m sorry, fella! I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you, I promise! It was just a tiny tumble, you’re all right. But you’re safe now.” His giant pale blue eyes switch to me and he implores knowingly, “Right, Dan? He’s safe with us. RIGHT, Dan?”

I sigh heavily at that insistent stare, boring straight into my very soul.

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. “Of course, Phillie. Whatever you say.”

Good god, I’m so weak against those eyes...

DJ Bryan  
“This is your trusty, crusty DJ in the evening, Bryan, and that was Ween with ‘Ocean Man,’ a particular favorite here in the studio. My producer is still finishing his interpretive dance to it. You all right there, Jack? The song is over, man. And he’s giving me the thumbs-up. You realize you look like an epileptic having a fit when you dance, yes? And he’s giving me a hand gesture I best not describe on-air, suffice it to say, he wasn’t aware until I just informed him. And I think he disagrees.”

Traci

Around 8:30 in the evening, I’m sitting on the couch in the front room, correcting quizzes as I wait patiently for Jack to arrive. His shift at the station ended at eight, and after normal post-work chatter and his bike ride back here, I estimate he should walk in right about... now.

Jack is startled to find me here, that much is obvious from the way he almost stumbles into the room once he unlocks the door. That and his wide eyes. He’s at a loss for words, which is fine because I have plenty for him.

I pat the space beside me on the couch. “Here. Sit with me.”

He’s hesitant, but does as he’s told, sliding his backpack off and setting it on the floor by his feet. He seems quite nervous, probably figuring I’m about to ream him out for having Troye’s key, since there’s no denying it - he DID just unlock the door to get inside. In front of me.

I hold out my hand expectantly. “Can I have Troye’s key, please?”

Jack doesn’t utter a word, merely hands over the keychain with a few sparse, random decorations and Troye’s house key. He keeps his head low, most likely expecting a punishment to come next.

Instead, as he pulls his arm back, I tut at him. He glances up at me in confusion.

“Hand out,” I urge him, and again, he obeys. I turn it palm-up and place another key in it. As he stares at it, dumbfounded, I explain, “Of course I knew Troye was lending you his key. How else would you be getting in after four in the morning without waking anyone up? The thing is, though, I’d much prefer you to have your own. That’s Logan’s old key, and since he won’t be using it anymore, it would be best if you had one on you at all times. Especially now.”

“Now?” he asks as he grips the key in his hand before hiding it away in his jacket pocket.

I nod solemnly at him. “I’ve already talked to Troye tonight, but I wanted to talk to you too. Just a warning - he may be a bit scared tonight.”

A dark shadow seems to overtake his very attentive gaze, like he knows something bad has happened and is ready to take on whoever did it to protect Troye. “What happened?”

I draw in a deep breath and meet his gaze steadily. “I received a phone call late this afternoon from the Sheriff’s department. Apparently, it seems as though Logan has disappeared. His trial for sentencing is tomorrow, and he wasn’t on the estate when the sheriff went to check in with him. Though his parents claim not to know where he is or when he escaped their custody, it’s believed that his father helped him get out of the city, possibly to one of their other properties. He had men out checking those properties this afternoon, but I haven’t heard anything else since.

“So, just to be safe, though it’s unlikely he’ll show up here at the house, I’m asking if you’ll please monitor Troye’s whereabouts, especially on campus. There’s an order keeping Logan from being on campus, but that’s a bit harder to keep track of. So, if you can, just please stay by Troye’s side whenever possible. Not just for the idea of Logan, but I’m sure you’ll help him feel safer just being with him.”

Jack nods slowly, adding, “Well, it isn’t like I don’t already do that just to be with him...but I know now to be a bit more cautious too. More aware.”

“Precisely. Also,” and I hand him a folded piece of paper, “put those in your phone. They’re my and Alec’s cell numbers. If you ever need anything - regarding Troye or anything else, meaning if YOU need anything, a ride, help with a class, whatever - call one of us. If one can’t answer, try the other.”

He nods again, sticking the paper in with the key. “Thank you. Really, I mean, thanks a lot. I appreciate it.”

But as he starts to stand, I sit back a little and cut him off. “Also, there’s one more thing.”

Jack sits back down, looking at me curiously.

“I submitted your application and information to the House Committee again, to try and get you in officially, to take Logan’s spot.”

Jack blinks at me, startled. “Again?”

I nod. “I’ve submitted it the last two years. Maybe third time’s a charm, eh? But seriously, I don’t know if they’ll agree but hopefully they’ll trust my judgment a little more this time after what happened.”

Jack is stunned, looking like he’s going to faint. “Th—Thank you, Mr. Doz... I mean... Really, truly, thank you. I never seriously considered I’d be House material, but I’m honored you think so. No matter what decision comes back, just...thank you.”

I smile over at him, stifling the urge to muss up his hair. “Hey, it’s Traci. If you take one of my classes, it’s Mr. Doz. Here, it’s just Traci.”

He can’t seem to hold back a giddy little smile, but he just nods.

I lean forward then, explaining seriously, “I know you struggle to pay for room, board, meals, books, materials, everything else, and this would cover all of that, so your money from the station would all be yours. Plus I know you’ve been on Dean’s List since you started and work hard in all your courses, which is remarkable considering you deal with a disorder, and your review from student teaching came back stellar. I feel you always deserved to be where Logan was. When it came down to it, it had been you or him. Off the record - I suspect Logan’s family paid the Committee to take Logan. I saw the list of instruments you learned, the way you went about getting funds to support your talent, and how you used it to aid in other courses. I always felt you deserved it more.”

Jack is clearly overwhelmed by my assessment, and when I finish, he bears a goofy smile and asks, “This may seem odd, but...can I hug you?”

I laugh but welcome it. After a brief squeeze, I remind him they haven’t said yes or no yet.

“Even if they say no, I know YOU think that much of me, and that’s huge for me, so thank you.”

“Hey,” I speak sincerely, looking straight at him, “I know you don’t hear it a lot, because I was the same, though you should, but I’m really proud of you.”

Jack immediately starts tearing up and asks, his voice cracking, “I know I just did this, but can I hug you again? You have no idea what that means to me.”

I don’t laugh this time, seeing how deeply my words affect him. I remember it myself. Because I DO have an idea of what it means. So I just nod, and this time, I hold him for much longer than before.

That damn committee had better say yes, goddamnit.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob tries again; more Saga of the Piggy

Jacob

I stare at my painted reflection in the mirror, waiting for my make-up artist to come and take it off of me. It starts to get itchy and I’m tempted to pull one of Troye’s oblivious old stunts and just grab a tissue and start wiping. But I know there might be a special way to take things off completely. Or maybe there isn’t and I’m just torturing myself with yet another reason to think about him.

The man who helped me get the boot from Troye’s good graces enters the room and, without a word, starts slowly and methodically taking off the make-up. I stay silent as well. We haven’t spoken, in fact, since the night Troye sent me away. I went to this slut’s apartment, only an hour after we had fucked, and we fought when I informed him I was dumped by the love of my life because HE had left some rather obvious marks on my neck. He’d shot back that cheaters rarely get away with it. So I set the line there. He was my make-up artist, nothing more. Not anymore.

I take one glance at him and know he’s keeping a stiff upper lip around me - whether he wants to chew me out or suck my dick, I have no idea. Could be either. It’s pretty inevitable, I think as I let my gaze fall on my own reflection. Ever since I was a teenager people have fawned over me, how handsome I am, how perfect I look, some calling me an Aldonis. But when you get used to hearing it, and then someone YOU think is a masterpiece shyly tells you he thinks you’re simply beautiful... that’s when you actually learn to appreciate the compliment again.

It had taken me so much to convince Troye of his own beauty. It had been so hard for him to believe me. But not even all those candid pictures I took of him when we were together could make him buy it - not until he heard it from my mouth. And what a thrill it had given me to see and feel his reaction to that. I still recall how he trembled against me as he kissed me, with such powerful desire that it nearly shook ME.

And the further I stare into my eyes in the mirror, the clearer the vision becomes of him standing in that bathroom, barely dressed, gorgeous and lovely and eyes full of unshed tears... God, he was lovely even when in pain.

“Oh good, Jacob, I caught you!”

I nearly jump out of the seat as the woman who usually does Troye’s make-up comes traipsing into the room, obviously not noticing the tension between my make-up artist and me.

She stops beside my seat and holds out a thick brown bound book. “You see Troye still, right?”

I scoff immediately and turn away from her. “Hardly.” Not that it’s up to me, really. He’s gotten rides to work by other means since we split, and I haven’t gotten one text from him. The closest I got was spying him, Jack and Dan having lunch together in the caf once, but I didn’t dare speak to him.

“Well I hope you do run into him. I suppose we could mail it, but personally I’d feel more secure if you were to put this in his hands yourself.”

I sigh, as if this task is a giant chore for me, not an excuse to hunt him down, and reach for it. “What is it anyway? Something he left from school? Just let him get it next time he comes in.”

“That’s the problem - he’s not coming back. He gave his notice two weeks ago.”

I snap my head around. “Two weeks?! Why wasn’t I told?”

She gives me a haughty expression. “So sorry, CAIN, didn’t realize you was runnin’ things now!”

I bite my lip and turn my attention to the book she gives me, opening it and feeling my heart nearly seize up and my stomach flip in my gut when those cold, piercing blue eyes stare back at me from such a sweet, effeminate face.

“It’s his portfolio,” she continues. “We didn’t have one ready for him when he left, and he was only here a few months, but I thought we should make one for him anyway. There were a lot of great headshots and photo shoots in there. It was a short time but the kid did a lot of work - a lot of magnificent work.”

I try to keep the tremor out of my voice as I page through the book carefully, my eyes dragging slowly over each shot like I don’t want to look away. “That, he did,” I breathe. “He surely did...”

After a few long moments of deliberation, I close the book and assure her, “I’ll get it to him.”

“Oh, Jacob, darling, thank you!” And she lays a wet kiss on my cheek before prancing out of the room.

I cringe and wipe at my cheek as my make-up artist smirks.

“Guess that’s the most action you’ve gotten since... well, ME!”

“Not quite,” I utter through gritted teeth. “I did get quite a few nice kisses from Tr—look,” I explode, actually taking a swipe at him. “It’s none of your goddamn business, you got it!?”

He holds up a make-up sponge in defense. “Okay, I’m done.” He throws the sponge at me and huffs out of the room, shouting over his shoulder, “Do it yourself, big boy!”

I sigh and squeeze the sponge tightly in my hand, until I feel myself calming down. I glare hard at myself, cursing internally, then let out a long breath... before dropping the sponge and opening the book again.

I’ll find him. Shouldn’t be too hard. And when I do... maybe he’ll just be willing to listen to me. I can be very convincing.

Jack  
Troye and I are working intensely on sheet music to our original songs together in the caf during a long lunch break. He’s sitting in front of me, studying my written work thoroughly as I stand with a foot up on a chair, double-checking and fixing parts on another song. 

I find it amazing that we’re both being so patient about this, but then it IS very important to us.

But after a while, I get a funny feeling coming over me and I peek at him beyond the papers in my hands - to find that Troye is just sitting there, staring up at me with a goofy expression on his face. I reach over and wave a hand in front of his dreamy eyes and suddenly he starts rambling like an idiot.

“I love your eyes. They’re so pretty. Like, I’ve seen pretty eyes on people a lot, but yours are just, like, GORGEOUS. Absolutely hypnotizing and enthralling. I could be on the verge of a panic attack, and one look into those eyes just sets me at ease somehow. I know because it’s happened!”

Exasperated by someone else’s lack of attention span for once, I glare up at the ceiling and ask, “Are we doing this or not?”

Troye completely dismisses any irritation in my voice and goes on, “They’re just so blue and piercing, and your eyelashes are ridiculously long and dark, which makes how bright blue they are stand out more. Almost like you’re wearing the tiniest bit of eyeliner. You’ve just got the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” 

This makes me blush unexpectedly. No one’s ever gone on so much about any of my features. So it’s fuckin’ flattering, man. 

But we’re meant to be working here! I roll my eyes to cover up my embarrassment. “I guess that’s a no...” 

Troye smiles at how bashful I am and sits up straighter. “Yes, of course! We’re doing this! I’m sorry, I’ll stop ogling you now.” 

“Thank you!” I sigh. Then I clear my throat and add quietly, “And, um...thank you, love. Yours are extremely lovely as well.” 

“BUT,” he cuts in with an authoritative voice, “not before I get me some... ICE CREAM!”

I immediately bow and hold out an arm to allow him past. “Now that is a noble cause,” I assure him. Ice cream and pizza are given legitimate excuses to procrastinate further, so I approve. We have to have SOME standards!

Jacob

I scan the crowded cafeteria, easily seeing over most people’s heads, clutching the portfolio to my chest and searching for that shock of nearly white hair I’d gotten so used to. A few bumbling idiots bump into me and I scowl back, but all they do is mutter, “Don’t just stand in front of the door, idiot!” and scurry away.

My attention finally falls on a head of - not white, but - green hair, and I blink, startled to find Jack set up alone at a medium-sized table, rows of papers spread out before him. He’s crouching over the table with such an intense look of concentration that it’s no wonder nobody else seems to be bothering him.

And when I blink again, I see him. Standing by the ice cream machine, of course, and wearing a cute red beret over his dyed blond hair, is Troye, eagerly filling up his styrofoam bowl. I make my way over to him as he adds his favorite toppings - of which there are many - and try not to be noticed by the leprechaun. Which doesn’t take much effort, as he’s still deep in thought over his slew of papers.

I cautiously step up a few feet away from Troye, and as he turns my way I expect him to stop and gawk at me. Surely some kind of shocked reaction at seeing me again.

As he shoves a spoonful of ice cream and hot fudge into his mouth, he pauses, taking a moment to lick his lips of the syrup before saying plainly, “Hi, Jacob,” in the most nonchalant tone I’ve ever heard from him. He finally lifts his eyes to me and offers a weak little smile, like he isn’t happy OR troubled to see me. I’m just... there.

“Hey, sweetness,” I sigh, feeling a weight lift off my chest as I assume all is okay.

But he hefts it right back on me when his smile evaporates and he warns, “Don’t... call me that.”

Okay. So he’s not happy to see me. I clear my throat and hold out the book. “Your, uh, make-up artist wanted me to give you this. Said you’re not coming back?”

He shifts his ice cream to one hand and takes the book from me, rolling his eyes as he smirks. “Joann. I TOLD her there was no need for this...”

“Well, what if you want to sign on with another agency?”

“I am not signing on with another agency,” he laughs, starting to walk away. “I doubt I’ll ever model again, if I can help it.”

“Why not?” I urge, following him slowly. “Your looks? You’re beautiful, Troye! You should at least put that gift to good use.”

He winces at the “b” word, but instead of denying it, he pauses again to turn back to me. “I was really hoping to use my musical gift instead. Makes me feel more... productive. Not as uncomfortable. We’re hoping to pull a band together by next month and get some gigs as soon as possible. Just small clubs or bars. That sorta thing. Now look, was there anything else? I’m kind of in the middle of something and can’t really talk.”

I realize that’s why he’s been trying to walk away all this time. I have no idea where he’s heading, but I can’t possibly let him go without at least trying...

I step closer to him, and bowing my head, I admit lowly, “Well, to be honest, I was wondering... if we’re okay again now, maybe you’d let me, I don’t know, take you out on a date sometime? You know. Catch up on things. Maybe pick up where we left off—well, maybe not RIGHT where we left off, but just pick up again?”

To my surprise, Troye’s face drops a little as he studies me, but not out of true sorrow. He’s pitying me.  
“Wow. That’s... That’s really unexpected, Jacob.” 

“How?” I challenge him. “You know I love you, I didn’t want to break up in the first place. I never stopped loving you.” 

“Y-Yeah, but... I thought I made my position clear—“ 

“I know, you did, but things can change. Look, you have every reason to not trust me. I can’t even begin to explain how sorry I am for what I did to you. I really messed up, in more ways than just cheating on you. I let you down, I didn’t give you the care you needed. I was too pushy, not patient enough. But if you could just find it in your heart to maybe... give me another chance... I can do better, I swear.” 

But he’s already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I know your apology is real and heartfelt, I appreciate it, I really do. I accept that much. But I’ve come a long way with my therapy and learning to trust again; any change might set me on a path of regression, and I don’t want to risk that. I like where I am now. And you and I getting back together - I just can’t do that.” 

I lower myself further to put my hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently. “Yes you can! Just say, ‘Yes, Jacob, I love you too,’ and we can start over! Wherever you are in your journey, I can accept it and catch up. I would for you. Can’t you just let me back in?”

“No, I mean I CAN’T,” he states seriously, wiggling out of my hold. “It’s more complicated than that. Even if I could trust you again, my heart’s somewhere else now.”

That stops me dead in my tracks. My hands drop like weights to my sides as I stare at him. “What?” 

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel that way for you anymore. I’m with someone else now.” 

I can’t say this news does anything less than stun me. Even though he is sweet, and beautiful, and talented... but for him to find someone this fast...

“Oh,” I manage to get out of my tight throat. “That was fast... Guess you’re still working out the kinks though.” 

He just can’t help lighting up as he smiles and says, “Oh no, no kinks to work out. I’m very happy now, much less stress and worrying, I can just relax and be myself around him with no concern over rejection, or being talked down to, or being pressured into anything. It’s just...he feels safe and secure somehow - like home. He constantly makes me laugh, he never looks down on me, he’s the sweetest thing on two legs... I’m just so in love, in a way I can’t describe.”

“Still,” I repeat doubtfully, “that’s pretty fast. Are you sure about this?”

Troye replies tersely, “He was there for me when you couldn’t be, in a way you didn’t understand. He claims he wasn’t sure either, but he still managed to win me over with how he was so caring and patient with me - for months, before we ever even had a single date. He could somehow understand how to treat someone in constant pain. He KNEW me, unlike everyone else - including my own boyfriend at the time.”

Ow. Okay, that stung. Still, there’s got to be something off about this whole charade.

“How do you make it work without sleeping together? I mean I assume you’re still... you know... frigid.”

Troye catches the spark of challenge in my eyes and sneers back, “That’s really none of your business, but if you want to humiliate yourself, we DO sleep together, nearly every night, we have since the night you and I broke up. Most of the time we even have sex!” He hesitates, then admits plainly, “Though most of the time, I have to make the first move because he’s acutely sensitive to my feelings and is actually kind of shy. But, not surprisingly to me but maybe to others, he’s an incredibly passionate lover. He truly puts ALL of himself into every move he makes. It’s like I said before - I knew he’d be an amazing fuck.” 

Without meaning to, my jaw suddenly drops as our previous nightly conversations come back to me and I realize what he’s saying. My eyes wide, I glance just beyond Troye’s elegant shoulder to gape at Jack, who’s still lost in his sea of papers.

“I’m sorry, Jacob...” Troye’s voice finally reaches me, actually sounding sincere this time. “Thank you for the apology, but no. I would just be lying to both of us if I said I still loved you. I just wasn’t happy. Even if you hadn’t cheated, I would’ve realized it eventually. With Jack, I’m truly happy.” And with that, Troye turns his back on me and goes to the table where it seems both he and Jack are working together on something quite thoroughly, hunched over papers and notebooks. 

Once he’s left me, I finally find the urge to keep moving and manage to stumble through a few people to an empty single booth. Unfortunately it has a clear view across the wide aisle to where the two musicians are sitting. And I sit there, dumbfounded, staring them down like they’re sheep and I’m the hungry wolf.

How could this have happened? I KNEW it was asking for trouble when I actually let Troye hang out with the little Irishman. I knew something would happen eventually.

Not quite THIS...

But I narrow my eyes as I watch them talking to each other. As Troye laughs like I’ve never seen him laugh before. And he shares his precious ice cream with that filthy mouth. It’s ludicrous! I’m truly outraged that someone like Jack is seen as good enough for someone like Troye! How could he possibly be happy with such a... loud little foul-mouthed punk? Just some ordinary guy with some musical ability. How could he NOT be happy with ME?

They share more ice cream - and then share a kiss, and seeing it drives me absolutely livid.

I’m the Aldonis! People have said so! I’m a successful model! I have excellent photography skills, which I used to capture gorgeous pictures of Troye himself. I have unique tastes in music and writing, like poetry and books about spirituality. I have a strong spiritual side that gives me a perspective not many people have. That should make anyone happy!

But whatever Troye wants, apparently Jack has, I think bitterly to myself as I continue to watch the couple carefully. I see Jack listening intently whenever Troye speaks, and realize by some hand gestures that they must be talking about a song. 

In the next instant, Jack gets so excitable that he jumps up and shouts, “That’s it! You’re brilliant, love!” before grabbing Troye’s head and kissing him blatantly in front of everyone. I glance around, wondering why no one else seems to notice. Furious, I shove myself out of the booth and storm outside. Whatever Troye sees in him, I simply don’t. He’s just so... loud!

DJ Bryan

“A little something different, Billie Eilish with ‘Xanny.’ Anyone out there with a few spare Xannies? Mister producer man hasn’t sat down yet during this broadcast. I suspect his hemorrhoids might be flaring up. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man! Piles are nothing to joke about! But, yes, I still do. So to continue this bout of uncharacteristically GOOD pop music, I dedicate this one to Jack’s hemorrhoids. Here’s Harry Styles with ‘Sweet Creature.’”

Phil

Another typical Wednesday night in January, almost the end of the month, finds Dan and me stuck in a ritual rut only a couple weeks back into the school year. Of course we spent a lot of time over break getting too acquainted with these routines, so we’ve practically become like the old married couple who never has sex anymore. I do tend to sleep more in his bed than my own, as Gandalf’s cage is under mine and I don’t want anything collapsing in on him. Several times during break we took advantage of this. But about a week before classes started back up again, we wanted to retrain ourselves into a normal bedtime and ended up sleeping ten hours a night. So then we started getting up earlier, but then we just got tired earlier as well.

Suffice it to say, we haven’t messed around much at all in about three weeks, which is unusual for us.

But now that we’ve finally started relaxing into our new schedules, I suggest we find the times when we CAN fool around. And Dan calls me a genius and attacks my mouth.

I have to tell him to settle down first because I want to go brush my teeth beforehand, and I order him to get into bed and wait for me. Which he does eagerly.

I take my time brushing my teeth, as tomorrow neither of us has a class until late morning, so going to bed later won’t be a big deal. Of course, moving like a snail won’t do either because I’m anxious to get back to Dan, so I step it up a notch and get myself ready a little quicker.

By the time I reach the bedroom door again, I can’t help but smile vaguely to myself. Then I push my black locks behind my ears and open the door...

...only to be greeted by the sight of Dan’s boxers-covered arse in the air as he reaches behind and in back of the mountain of pillows on his bed, his cries of frustration muffled by the material around him. I rush to the bed after nearly slamming the door in shock, trying to grab his legs and rescue him from the man-eating bed. When I’ve dragged him out finally, he whirls on me.

“What the fuck you doin’?!” he demands furiously.

Half-kneeling on the mattress, I gesture to the pillows. “Rescuing you—“

“Rescuing me? Phil, I heard a noise, I swear I heard something when I lay down, it kept going, and now it’s stopped! I was trying to find what is was, I didn’t need rescuing!”

“Oh.” I scratch at my head. “Well, from out here it looked like the bed was trying to eat you...”

Dan groans as he rakes his hands through his loose curls. “The bed was trying to eat me,” he repeats flatly.

I shrug. “I’ve heard weirder stuff on Cree—“

“On CreepyPasta,” he finishes for me. “I know. Phil, those stories are all fictional. You know that, right?”

I pull myself up onto my knees on the bed and cross my arms. “What about the ones that say they’re based on true eve—“

“They LIE, Philip. Now come on, help me look for this thing in my bed.”

“How do I know YOU’RE not lying?”

He gives me a dull stare, then without looking, reaches back and pushes down on some random pillows. Sure enough, a very muffled, very familiar song just barely reaches my ears. My eyes go wide.

“It’s haunted!” I whisper.

“Oh, would you—“ And he gropes for one of the pillows to smack me with.

I giggle as he attacks me, wrestling me onto my back with our heads at the foot of the bed. I suppose it’s safer not to set whatever it is off if we stay like this. So I wrap my arms around his bare shoulders and kiss him back when he takes my lips with his own.

We start off nice and slow, just kissing and caressing each other while he slides between my legs, and I can easily feel his erection through his thin boxers as he rubs against the inside of my thigh. I eagerly lift my hips, connecting with his own, and soon he’s reaching down to try and slip a hand under my own boxers...

But then the song interrupts us. Whether it was his stray foot that bumped a pillow that sets it off or it just goes off on its own, the familiar music sings to us from a muffled place at the head of the bed, and this time it sounds almost sinister.

At least I think so. Dan, on the other hand, just lifts his head from mine with an exasperated look on his face, and he immediately tears away from me and dives back into the pillow mound, yelling bloody murder and swearing death on this thing’s mechanical life.

I’m about to get up and help him find it, but I only get to my knees by the time he finally re-emerges from the heap, victoriously brandishing a very well-known (and still singing) pickle.

Well, a stuffed pickle, that is.

I gasp. “That’s my yodeling pickle!” I exclaim over the noise of its continued yodeling.

“Really?” Dan deadpans. “Y’don’t say.”

I tilt my head to the side. “But how did it get over here? I keep it over on my bed.”

“Funny, I was about to ask the same question.”

I suddenly giggle when I remember. “Oh yeah - I think I was playing with it while you were getting ready for bed once and then you distracted me and I lost it.”

Dan twirls the now silent fuzzy pickle. “And what is the moral here?” 

I shrug. “Be careful where I put my pickle?” 

“No - keep your damn junk out of my bed!” he roars, whacking my nose with the plush toy.

I smirk. “Oh? I thought you enjoyed having my junk in your bed...” 

He gives me a look of frustration. “Not THAT junk, silly!” And he hurls it across room before grabbing me by the back of the neck and yanking me to him for another, much fiercer kiss this time, virtually dragging me down amongst the piles of pillows beneath us.

He thinks he’s got the upper hand by gripping my neck, but I easily slip out of his grasp, breaking the kiss so I can trail my tongue down the front of his throat to his collar bone, my hands gliding over his chest and stomach at the same time. Dan moans, obviously easily subdued with a little tongue action, and I feel his fingers in my hair, pushing me lower and lower.

I oblige his urging, but insist on taking it slower than what he wants. I plant moist kisses along his ribs, pausing to nibble on each nipple as I come across it. His hands slide down to pull at my shirt, fingers bunching up at the hem so he can pull it over my head and toss it away. Though he is by no stretch of the imagination a tan man, I still look like a ghost next to him, but he’s never seemed to care, so I stopped as well. He pushes down on my shoulders, wanting me to get on with it, eager to shed his boxers and have at least SOME level of satisfaction soon.

And I’m eager to please him... except...

I gasp when I turn my head to the side, just as I’m about to tug his boxers down, and suddenly I’m frozen as two black, beady eyes reflect the lamp light back at me.

Startled, I shove myself into a kneeling position, all lust and urgency gone from me. I hold my hands to my mouth and whisper, “Dan...”

“Hmmm?” He blinks his eyes open and stares up at me with dread. “Oh no. Is Mr. Pickle setting up for an encore?”

I glare down at him and smack his leg. “No, you insensitive twat - it’s Gandalf!”

He twists awkwardly to his side to look down at our piggy in his cage. “What? Looks fine to me. C’mon—“

But I slap his hand away when he reaches for my arm, startling him.

“No! Dan, we have to stop.”

He gawks at me. “We WHAT?!”

I’ve made up my mind. I jump off the bed and grab my shirt off the floor, pulling it back on as I explain, “Haven’t you heard about kids who see their parents having sex?! What if we traumatize him?!”

Dan flops back into the pillows, grumbling, “You never had any problem with it before.”

“That’s because I didn’t look over to see him WATCHING us before, Dan! He was eying up every move we made!”

Dan fake cries as he presses his palms to his eyes, then tries to reason, “Phil, I don’t think he’s traumatized. He’s a fucking Guinea pig! He can barely SEE us, let alone understand what’s going on!”

But I’m set on my decision. I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. “I refuse to abuse any animal in my own home.”

Dan pulls himself out of the mound of cushions and looks up at me very gravely. “Phil, I’m going to ask you something very serious now, and I need you to answer to the best of your ability.”

I return his somber expression and nod for him to go on.

“About how much meat is there on a Guinea pig? Enough for one meal? Maybe two?”

Huffing at his very inappropriate comment, I slide the cage out from under my bed and inform him that WE are sleeping elsewhere tonight.

“Oh come on, Phil, where you gonna go? Front room? Alec will love that in the morning! Phil, you’re not serious. Phil? Phil!”

Troye

I put the finishing touches to the shimmering lip gloss I just received from Louise, a late Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever present, and dab at a random bubble of liquid eyeliner as cautiously as I can. Once I’m satisfied with my make-up, I realign one of the white straps on my garter belt and stand from my desk, making sure every strand of hair is perfect and every hook is flat. 

I glance over at the back of Jack’s head, which is almost literally drowning in more paperwork, this time for a school assignment for his percussion curriculum. Which isn’t due for three weeks. He’s pretty much taken over Logan’s old desk to do this, and I think it’s time he has a little break.

“Hey, um, hon? Could you buckle this for me?” I goad him on, though it’s actually a buckle I’ve already fixed and undone twice. But it would be believable, since it’s on the back of my thigh.

I walk across the room, hoping he’ll at least lift his head from his work. Instead, it looks like he bites harder on his pencil and readjusts the beanie covering his meadow green hair. I make it all the way to the desk and repeat my request before he absentmindedly glances at my ass and blinks, then buckles said annoyance before turning right back to his work.

I stand there, one hip jutting out suggestively, jaw hanging open.

“Really?” I say flatly, and he finally lifts his eyes to seek out my own.

“What? What’d I do? Whoa!” he finally gawks at my skimpy outfit, sitting back a bit to take it all in. “W-What—What’s all this about, then?” he giggles as I slowly lower myself into his waiting lap - and when I turn sideways to drape my arms around him and start pecking at his neck, I can feel that his body, at least, understands, even if his brain is still caught up in drums.

“I think you know,” I assure him, lifting my head to nibble gently on the shell of his ear.

And then, just as he’s blinking furiously while gazing at me some more, there’s a quick succession of knocks at our door. I immediately tense up as he automatically tries to stand to answer it.

“Sh!” I order sharply. “If we’re quiet, they’ll go away!”

Jack laughs as he eases me off his lap and stands - checks for any visible signs of a hard-on - then goes to answer.

Standing in the doorway is Phil, in his night clothes, holding a large glass cage with a mesh metal lid, and inside is the cutest little white fur ball I’ve seen in ages.

“Aww!” I coo, coming over to them. “A Guinea pig! Oh, I LOVE Guinea pigs!”

Jack is peering at it curiously with a smile on his face. “It’s a cutie!” He glances at Phil. “I didn’t know you were allowed to have pets at the House.”

“We aren’t,” Phil says through gritted teeth. “It’s a long story, but could we possibly stay in here tonight? I promise he won’t get into anything!”

“What’s wrong with your room?” I demand nervously, now almost certain that this night is never going to happen...

“Dan,” Phil sighs. “He said he’s going to eat him.”

Jack immediately bursts out laughing. I can’t help but offer a smile of exasperation myself - but Phil looks serious and isn’t moving, so Jack’s laughter cuts off abruptly.

“Oh, you were serious? Oh, um, I’m sorry...”

“Phil,” I start kindly, “you know we’d love to help you out—“

“Yeah,” Jack puts in, then points to Logan’s old bed. “This’ll fit easily under there. And you can have the mattress. Easy solution!”

“Really? Oh, thank you so much, guys, you have no idea what this means to me!”

And as I glare daggers at the back of Jack’s head, he obliviously turns and welcomes the party crashers in.

Sighing heavily, I throw myself out the door and stomp down to Dan’s room, pounding on HIS door until he answers, an obvious sulk written all over his face.

“What’s with you?” I snap.

Dan answers, “Got cockblocked by a Guinea pig.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks me up and down, noticing the white lingerie and make-up. “What’re you all dolled up for?”

“Same.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Couple of morons.”  
I crook an eyebrow at him. “Them? Or those of us in love with them?”

Dan smirks. “Fair call. Both, I guess.”

“At least they have the advantage of also being sweet as fuck.”

“Their advantage, our loss.”

Dan lets me in to take Phil’s bed for the night. It’s only fair.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob confronts Jack; Mark and Jack go to a party.  
TW: slight non-con, mention of drinking/drug use

[Jack](https://jacksepticeye.fandom.com/wiki/Jacksepticeye?file=JackGreenHair.jpg)

[Jacob](https://www.imgmodels.com/jacobbixenman)

[Mark](https://pin.it/5keEp5R)

[Troye](https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.gq.com/story/troye-sivan-is-on-top/amp)

  
Jack

I’ve overtaken the cafeteria.

Not really, I suppose, but I’ve definitely overtaken a large table with my sheet music.

And some tacos. The tacos are essential for writing music.

This section is just the skeleton of my senior percussion piece. I haven’t even started on the meat of it yet and I already know I’m in too deep. But the ideas behind each part keep playing in my head so I refuse to back down yet. I enjoy a challenge! This won’t be due until the end of the semester, but I’m not letting myself fall one inch behind on it.

Of course, outside forces always conspire against me, and as I try to carry on bringing more ideas to fruition on paper, my mouth full of meat and cheese and taco shell, a shadow gradually appears at the top of my sheets, obscuring my vision. I glance up, swallow the food in my mouth, and mumble almost incoherently, “Hi, Jacob.”

“Senior project?” he guesses as he looms over my hunched form.

I nod, then ask in the kindest tone possible, “Could you maybe move back a few inches please? It’s just difficult to see...”

“Oh, of course.” Though his tone is dripping with sarcastic pandering.

Instead of backing up, however, he moves closer to me. If anything could be MORE distracting than someone looking down on you, it’s someone looking over your shoulder. But he’s not looking at my piece, no. He wouldn’t understand it even if he could read music. He merely wants to get as close as possible to me so he can bend down (because he’s a giant and I’m a “leprechaun”) over my shoulder.

All in order for him to speak quietly into my ear. “You know he’s using you. Right?”

I slowly turn my head to give him a most absurd look. “What th’ fuck’re you tryin’ to pull here, mate?” I answer back as if this isn’t a secretive conversation.

He gives me a pitying expression and pats my shoulder. “Look at me as a kind of messenger from the future. A warning, if you like.”

I gesture to where a hand has found its way to lean on one of my sheets. “And I’ll warn YOU, touch my music one more time and you’ll be losing an eye.”

He quickly retrieves his hand but doesn’t pull away, insisting, “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, man? He can be tricky, but believe me - he’s only using you for whatever it is he wants. Then he’ll toss you out like yesterday’s garbage. Remember, he did it to me.”

I can’t help but snort at that, reminding him (in a not-too-quiet voice), “You went ‘n fucked someone else cuz he wouldn’t let YOU fuck him! He didn’t even want you touching him!”

“Yes, but WHY wouldn’t he even let me touch him, hm? Because he wanted to torture me—“

I stand up straighter, sick of the games now. “Because,” I answer plainly, “he was scared. He was having flashbacks in the middle of making out - flashbacks of being RAPED. By a BASTARD. That would freak me the fuck out. Now I dunno what you’re tryin’ to do here, but whatever it is, it ain’t workin’. So kindly piss off and die, wouldje? I’m tryin’ to work.”

As I’ve backed away from him a few inches, he gets the message to steer clear, so instead he stands straight and points at me. “You think you know everything? Then tell me, if it’s not a trick or him using you, why else would someone as exquisite as Troye choose to date someone so COMMON as YOU? Do you really think he would’ve given you a second glance if you hadn’t had pot on you that night? Or if you weren’t a musician? Really, those are the only reasons I can think of!”

Normally I would feel self-conscious, uncertain, and agree with him, but this time i feel stronger; I know what I’m talking about. At least when it comes to my relationship with Troye, I feel confident.

“There IS this little reason called he LOVES me,” I tell him haughtily, and the second he tries to wave that away, I laugh rather loudly, startling several people around us. “I’m sorry - you might not know what that is, since he didn’t feel it for you.” This time I point to him instead and ask him, “You never really got to know him, did you? All those months and you didn’t learn a goddamn thing about him. You got a problem, my friend: you can connect with anyone you want to, physically, with your possibly diseased dick. You can fuck any girl or guy here and they’d probably all thank you no matter what STI you give ‘em. What you don’t know how to connect with is this,” and I tap my head.

Before he can retaliate, I step back closer to him and enlighten him, “Troye doesn’t know how to do those things. They wouldn’t even cross his mind. He doesn’t think about what he can get out of people. Which is WHY he is, as you say, so exquisite. And he doesn’t see me as COMMON, which is something I really admire about him - finding the extraordinary in the seemingly mundane,” gesturing to myself. “His perspective is so unique and pure that he finds quality and worth in this.”

I know I’m drawing others’ attention with my rant, and it’s making Jacob turn red with either rage or embarrassment. But I don’t care. I continue by ticking off on my fingers, “Troye knows how to write songs. He knows how to play piano and sing. He knows how to make love. Oh BOY, does he know how to do that! Among a slew of other things you probably never paid enough attention to care about. Did you know he can make string bracelets using his toes? Or is that sort of thing BENEATH you? It’s funny. I like it. He likes it when I do voices like cartoon characters and famous actors. He loves certain video games. Any of that interesting to you? ‘Cause it is to me.

“He doesn’t have time for that other crap, scheming and pretending and all that gossip and drama shite. Maybe that’s your specialty, but don’t you dare lump him in with your shortcomings. He’s about as different from you as I am. I know you think you’re some big shot king in your life, and maybe you are. But Troye is NOT your queen. Not even in your skewed version of reality. He is himself, which is better than anything you could possibly dream up to fit your narrative.“

I can feel myself getting too wound up over this, so I start clearing the table of my sheet music as I talk, sliding them all in order into my folders. Jacob stands back and stays quiet as I work in a flurry, and I catch several eyes looking at me - as if they’re all goading me on, urging me to just let it out. I catch a gaze from the girl in the next booth, who furrows her brow and nods supportively. So I do.

“Besides,” I continue to Jacob, my hands on my hips, “Troye will do whatever the fuck he wants. I know that. But right now, he’s DOING me, not you, and that drives you crazy. I’m sorry you have whatever problems you have with me - for a long time I thought you were a cool dude. But you obviously built up some fantasy grudge between us, and if that’s what you need for whatever reason, that’s fine. I don’t feel a loss.

“And, okay, I’ll be realistic: if Troye ever wants to leave me, I’ll fight tooth and nail to win him over, but really, in the end, I’ll have to let him go to do whatever the fuck he wants. Because he’s his own fucking person, not some prize. Not some puppet or force I have to control. I don’t play that ownership game. And I’ll be devastated if and when he goes. But at least I’ll know our time together was never wasted on lying, abandonment, and cheating.” With each accusation, I nudge him away with my elbow so I can reach my backpack.

I zip my now full backpack shut and grab my last taco, gesturing with it to Jacob before I leave.

“Oh, and another big difference between you and me: if he ever chooses to go, he’ll MISS me.”

And that little spectacle, as I walk out of the caf stuffing my face, earns me a nice swell of applause from those who heard it. And I have to smile.

I had TACOS for lunch! And now I’m off to meet MY LOVER for his piano practice.

DJ Bryan

“And that was Editors - God, I love me some Editors - with ‘All the Kings.’ Lovely bit of piano at the end there. And that voice - that VOICE! Hey, producer man Jack, do you know how tall singer-slash-guitarist-slash-pianist Tom Smith of Editors is? No? Neither do I. But you know what I DO know? He’s a lot taller than you. Ooh. Ooh! If looks could kill! And that leads us into our next track, Peter Gabriel’s ‘Games Without Frontiers’ - if Jack could kill, he probably will - ME.”

Mark

I wince as some ashes from the cigarette of a very curly-haired girl with creepily long fingernails accidentally land on my arm when she absently flicks it my way. I hiss when I realize one is still lit and nearly spill my beer on the tiny burn when I reach to scratch it away. My noise must catch her attention and she gasps down at where I’m sitting squished against the arm of a red crushed velvet couch - where two other couples are also occupying it for their own sordid needs. I must look like an awkward fifth wheel, but it’s misleading. I’m not actually at this house party on my own, though the friend who came with me actually DID ditch me because I was whining too much.

On a rare night that Troye wants to try sleeping alone again, just to see how successful he is, it took me an hour to convince Jack to come with me to this other friend’s party. He was sure he’d feel off the whole time and wouldn’t know anyone here. I told him he’d know me. And what does he do? Makes fast friends with the Holder of the Weed and immediately gets blitzed out of his gourd.

He hung with me for about half an hour, pointing out various women and guys I could try to start conversations with. I had to remind him twice that women weren’t necessary. Then all the guys he tried to imagine me with were either too femme or too gruff. I informed him I liked the in-between, and he was baffled by what I meant, while I had to roll my eyes and stop myself from shoving him in front of the hallway mirror. That would have come off a little too obvious.

When he finally tired of putting up with my seemingly unobtainable standards, he left the couch we’d been occupying and got a beer, then sat with the other Weed Master on the floor to talk.

Now it’s going on eleven, and I’M the one with the fading interest. After getting ashed on (and apologized to, though I wasn’t interested in the once-over and smile offered after) and ditched, left alone to watch other straight couples make out to my side, I’ve had enough.

When I stand, I can feel the light effects of the beer giving me a slight buzz. I’m kind of glad we walked here. I don’t have to feel pressured to drive when I’m a bit too tipsy. I think I’ll be fine for a half a block’s walk.

But then I catch sight of Jack. He’s pushed up against the wall next to his new stoned friend, his knees bent and arms encircling them as he lets his beanie hang by one finger while the others hold his cell phone in front of his face. He’s staring at it intently, almost seeming confused.

I nudge him with my foot when I get to him. “C’mon, we’re going. Nothing worth sticking around here for.”

He tilts his head back to look up at me. “He hasn’t called.”

I slither into a squat and make him repeat his words. I can see how disappointed he is, so I pat him on the back. “That’s a good thing. It means he can make it through a night alone. Doesn’t mean he WANTS to, or HAS to.”

He stares back at me blankly, then repeats in a shout, “I said he hasn’t called!”

I smirk and pat his back again. “You’re done.”

“Wha—“ But he gets cut off when I hook his arm around my shoulders and hoist him to his feet. I have to lean over a little to make up for the extra inches, but I still think I’ll be okay getting back to the dorms.

I can’t help but make the remark, as we stumble out the front door together, “You’ve really become a lightweight. What was it, four beers and a shitload of weed and you can barely walk on your own?”

“You haven’t let me try!”

“Want me to stop and let you try?”

“Nnnn... Better not.”

I have to laugh at him. “You know what it is? You’ve been spending all your free time with your boyfriend and not enough time partying.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he snorts. “I’ll admit it. Now you admit you’re just jealous ‘cause you’re not getting laid like I am.”

There are all sorts of ways I could respond to that. I settle on simply replying, “It would be a nice trade-off.”

It takes a little longer than I expect to get back to the dorms, with Jack growing ever more incoherent as we go. But finally we reach our door and I have to set him leaning against the wall to dig my keys out. I pause once I open the door, as I look over and see him there, his head back and eyes closed, floppy green hair sticking out from under his white beanie, biting his lip like he’s enjoying some great visions behind his eyelids. Maybe of a sexual nature.

I smirk at my own imagination and shake my head. I need to stop with these fantasies, the ones I’d never tell him about, wherein he comes to me willingly, wanting what I always have...

I shove the thoughts out of my head and pull him inside the room, directing him to his cot. He immediately flops onto his pillow and groans, before I even have the door locked. I roll my eyes in exasperation, but have to laugh as I sit on the edge of the cot and tug at his arm until I grunt to him to turn over. He finally does and I start working at his boots, untying them with fumbling fingers (definitely a good thing I didn’t drive). I pull at them until they slip off, dumping them in a pile on the floor. Then I turn back to his top half and unzip his hoodie. I know he tends to feel warm at night, so with a shred of help from him, I manage to sit him up against my arm and shoulder, where he drapes his arms over me and rests his head while I struggle to get him to realize what I’m trying to do. He finally concedes one arm after another as I slide them out of the hoodie, but he refuses to give up his place where his head lolls on my shoulder. It’s sort of sweet, actually - and I suddenly feel a familiar sensation rising in my gut.

I cringe and pull the hoodie off, tossing it to the head of the bed on the floor, and pause for a moment with my hands frozen on his skinny upper arms. I squeeze slightly, closing my eyes, almost feeling like he’s trying to hug me. But I know that’s not the case. And as I start to feel turned on, I resist any urges that come on and instead focus on laying him on his back, bracing his head with one hand to place it delicately on the pillow.

But the moment I sit back and check to see that he’s okay, he shifts slightly in his near-sleep, mumbling some kind of gibberish, and the way he tilts his head with the way the outside campus lights stream in through the window and illuminate his face makes me stop and stare.

I don’t know if Troye ever told him or realized it himself, but the boy’s got a beautiful profile. Just a beautiful facial structure in general. Without thinking I reach up and gently trace a high cheekbone with the backs of my fingers. He murmurs something nonsensical in his delirium, and I sigh to myself.

Over three years, I’d held that secret in, and all it took was him figuring himself out because of someone else to make me say it. And since then, my world has felt so cracked, so weakened. Not quite shattered yet, because at least he still loves and trusts me as a friend. But this terrible, painful longing still persists. I thought I could will it away if I tried hard enough, but not even ignoring it for several weeks has made it lessen. Dear God, I hope it doesn’t take three years to abate.

Because sometimes, like this moment now as I lean over him and get so close that our noses nudge each other, I just can’t stop myself. I search for his lips blindly in the dim lighting and when I find them with my own, they’re open slightly, enough that he doesn’t even move as my mouth closes in on his and I slide my tongue inside to taste him. Beer and weed is what I get in return, and I savor it as I deepen the kiss further, my hand bracing his side until it gropes down to his hip.

I clutch him there as I lean into him further, and he makes a gentle, dreamy sound in his throat that causes the blood to start pumping hard to my dick. I moan in return, letting go of his hip to reach up and undo several buttons on his light cotton sweater. Enough to pull back the material and expose half of his slimly muscled chest. I break the kiss off only to duck my head lower, placing feather-soft kisses down the length of his long, elegant throat.

He lets out a soft moan and tilts his head back, and I start to lose my breath as I gaze up at him. I kiss my way down to his chest, over to an erect nipple, which I eagerly clamp down and start suckling on. His breath quickens and a few high-pitched whimpers escape him, making me convinced...

Sure enough, when I reach down between his legs, I can feel the heat and hardness of his own erection straining against his tight black jeans.

I stroke and squeeze him over his jeans, nibbling and licking at his nipple as I do so, remembering him making several jokes about how sensitive his are, and I’ll be damned if he wasn’t kidding. Even in his higher-than-high state, he’s biting his lip, his eyes closed, whimpering and moaning as I tease and touch him.

And God, does it feel good to make him react... but then I remember what he’s been drinking and smoking all evening and all night, and though my hard-on won’t abate, when I reach to slip my hand into his jeans, I stop, feeling a sense of guilt overtake me.

He’s not awake. He’s not conscious for this. This is just his body reacting to me. Even now as I pause for several moments, he doesn’t ask if I’m okay or urge me to keep going. He hasn’t begged me to stop - because he CAN’T.

What the fuck am I doing? I’m no better than Logan. If I keep going, that is. Jack trusts me. I can’t do this to him.

I pull my hand back, fix his shirt, then place one more kiss on his cheek before pulling the cover up over him, to his chest, and push myself off the bed.

I stumble to my own pathetic cot and kick off my sneakers without untying them, toss my coat on the floor, and struggle under my own cover - until I get into a comfortable enough position that I can undo my jeans, pull out my cock and finish myself off. So I can stop concentrating on it.

After I finish, I lay there staring at the ceiling, all sorts of things floating through my head, until a sudden digital ringing jerks me fully awake. It’s Jack’s cell phone. Still in his pocket.

I pull myself together and rush to his side. He’s not moving to get it, completely out. So I dig under his cover until I find the right pocket and pull it out.

It’s Troye. Good thing I chose not to ignore it. When I answer, he sounds surprised to hear my voice, but asks if Jack is still awake - he had a terrible nightmare that involved Jack and he would feel really comforted if he could see him. Hesitantly, I explain the situation to him, that Jack is basically out of commission at the moment. He sounds disappointed, but says he doesn’t want to bother him. Not knowing what else to do, I apologize and we hang up.

But I feel bad. I feel guilty for even touching Jack while he was incapacitated. I feel bad that I urged him to go to that party. Granted, he got drunk and high on his own, but that didn’t give me permission to take advantage of his state.

No matter how good he felt.

Plus, Jack will be furious with himself if this was the reason that causes Troye to spend the night alone and afraid.

I call Troye back only a minute later. “Hey, look, I just had a thought...”

Twenty minutes later, I lead Troye into the room, assuring him, as he keeps asking, that it’s okay, and of course he’s welcome any time, especially since it’s a Friday night.

“I’m just worried I’ll bother him—“

“Oh, believe me, you’re not bothering him. He’d prefer it over leaving you alone.”

He glances down at Jack’s prone form and smirks, shaking his head faintly. “I did tell him to have fun tonight.”

“I doubt he did, really,” I confess. “He couldn’t put his phone down. Kept wondering why you didn’t call.”

Troye makes a sound of pitying regret and gives me a hug. I’m a bit startled, to say the least, but I hug him back briefly.

“Thank you for bringing me. I know I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

When he lets me go, he slips off his coat, wearing almost kid-like pajamas, and steps out of his shoes before crawling under the cover into bed next to Jack.

Jack wakes up vaguely, lifting his head and staring at Troye. “No, wait, I’ve had this dream...”

Troye giggles, then tells him how he’d been scared and I came to the rescue, suggesting he come here tonight.

Jack is so moved by my solution that he holds up a hand, stretching it toward me.

“Oi, thanks, brother.”

My smile is strained as I take his hand and fight the urge to kiss it, squeezing tightly. “Any time, man.”

And when I let go to head back to my bed, Jack turns on his side so he can hug Troye and comfort him. As I climb under my cover, I overhear Troye talking about having “another sleep paralysis dream,” where he couldn’t move or speak, and this time it was Jack who had been drifting away from him in some thick fog. He starts weeping as he explains quietly, and I hear Jack kiss him a few times. Even wasted, Jack is good at consoling him and assuring him he’s there and not going anywhere. Eventually they both fall asleep in each others’ arms.

And me, though I do feel envious of who’s in bed with him instead of me, I also do feel a bit better, knowing I helped them both out a little.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s birthday
> 
> TW: violence, threatened non-con

[Happy Birthday Jack](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/54/6d/90/546d900be690a0ca6594a4a79ba940a3.jpg)

  
[Happy Birthday to you](https://weheartit.com/entry/247089071)

  
[You demon](https://jacksepticeye.fandom.com/wiki/Antisepticeye?file=Pax_East_Anti_3.png)

Troye

After barging in on a poor, wasted Jack and being so clingy and dependent like a little leech when he probably just wanted to sleep (he never said that but I felt bad), I want to make it up to him somehow. He was the sweetest thing and held me and whispered comforting, loving things to me until I fell asleep, but of course he would - he’s the kindest man I’ve ever met and I’m the luckiest boy because he’s so in love with me. But I need to find a way to pay him back for at least a fraction of all the patience he’s shown me.

Besides that, his birthday is coming up fast and I still haven’t figured out what to get him!

By some act of God, I find out through classmates in my first lecture on Monday that a young man in class named Dave works at an old fashioned cinema, and gradually the pieces start to come together in my head. 

I catch the guy right after class, beating down all my anxieties about meeting new people because I have to make this happen. When I ask to speak with him, he stares at me like he’s not sure he believes I’m talking to him at all, so I just briefly explain that my boyfriend’s birthday is Friday, and do they, like, rent out theaters. He finally snaps back to reality and tells me all the details. I beg him to please, PLEASE see if he can get me a theater for Friday night, I’m willing to pay what he quoted, for just one film, if they can get it in time. Dave is more than helpful and says he’ll see what he can work out with his boss that night. I startle him with an excited hug and thanks, giving him my number to call me when he finds out if it’s possible.

Wednesday Dave calls back while Jack and I are working on future band material, this time with piano and guitar. Dave says he can do it, at a late showing on Friday night. I thank him profusely and call him my life-saver before hanging up.

Jack is absently toying with the guitar as he smirks at me. “What was that about?” he asks in a suspicious tone.

“Nothin’,” I answer as nonchalantly as I can muster.

“Uh-huh,” he grins. “Didn’t sound like ‘nothin’’ to me. And I thought I was your life-saver!”

Avoiding his gaze, I tell him airily, “You are, but a girl can always use more than one...”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Okay, what’s goin’ on? What’re you schemin’ over there?”

“I told you! Nothing!” But my infectious giggle doesn’t help me any.

Although “nothing” is really quite “something,” and not just as a present either. To be honest, it does cost a bit to buy out the theater even for just one film, but it’ll be worth it to see Jack’s face when he gets to watch his favorite boyhood sci-fi film on the big screen like he’s always wanted to. And really, I still have enough money left for a few weeks.

Jack presses his lips together in thought, and finally says warily, “Okay, whatever you say, love. But you’re still a terrible liar!”

Well, I can’t say he’s wrong there.

Thursday night while Jack is at the station, I put together another small bit of his present. I pull all of the clothing Cain passed on to me out of my closet, and I spend hours going through different outfits and combinations.

I finally settle on a simple white soft lace dress that reaches just above my knees, with a long-sleeved white sweater that touches my ankles and has a faux fur collar lining. It’s just about warm enough for February but what I really like is the contrast between the short dress and the longer outer layer.

I dig through the shoes Cain gave me and find the perfect white platform “combat” style boots that go halfway up my calves. I could possibly break my ankle in these - or look absolutely smashing! I know Jack wears his REAL combat boots almost all the time, so he might find it charming.

Now, just some light make-up and hopefully, all I need to do is pluck up the courage to wear this get-up in front of him - let alone out in public. I’ve been feeling easily exposed since the night Logan hurt me, so I’ve been wearing at least three layers to cover up. Luckily it’s winter so no one questions it. But this is just a dress and sweater. People will LOOK and actually SEE me. The thought makes me shiver.

But then again, I’ll be with Jack, and he knows what I look like with NOTHING on, so I know I should feel more confident and trust in him. But it still doesn’t sit right with me. All I can really do is wait until tomorrow and hope his confidence rubs off on me.

On Friday morning, I wake Jack up half an hour early with a sensual kiss. It’s tough to get him up in the mornings, but today seems to be a bit of an exception, as I think my new method is preferred over just nudging him repeatedly and telling him the time. Today he sinks deep into the kiss almost immediately, and as we usually end up sleeping naked now, I can easily feel that he’s already aroused. I slide a leg over his hip and pull myself up, letting him know who’s the one giving the present this time. I turn him onto his back and straddle his small waist before reaching for the drawer in the nightstand.

Within one minute, I’m easing myself down onto him, and his head bends back with a wordless groan of pleasure. Before long I’m riding him hard and deep, not too fast, leaning forward on his chest and pinching his erect nipples. His hands are planted firmly on my hips but he’s not directing me as I come down steadily on his swollen cock, just feeling them as I move. I clench my muscles around him as I lift myself slowly, making him cry out in ecstasy. He pulls a pillow down over his face to muffle his voice, but oh no, I’m not letting that happen. One of my favorite parts is hearing him.

I pluck the pillow away and sit up straighter on top of him, so now he has no pillow to muffle himself and no mouth to kiss to absorb the sound.

“Come on, baby,” I whisper to him, “let it out, let me hear you...”

And I come down hard on him, drawing a startled near-yell from him, his head snapping back sharply. And in the next instant, his hands tighten around my hips as I reach for my own erection, and he yanks me downward while shoving his dick up inside me. I gasp noisily and whimper as the impact instantly causes me to grip myself just enough to make me come. But I keep riding him as he guides me, his hips lifting off the mattress to penetrate as far as he can, until he’s leaning his head back and moaning uncontrollably as he comes too.

No doubt our bedroom neighbors heard that one. Probably hate us for it too! But that just makes me giggle as I lean over to kiss him and he smiles back at me.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

I just shake my head and wave it away, telling him, “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

“Certainly started out that way, love.”

Once we’ve gotten ourselves together, Jack and I head to the winding back staircase and descend into a small crowd of our friends, all waiting with little streamers and kazoos. Everyone there wishes him a happy birthday, some, like Louise and Phil, give him small presents to open when he has the time. And then Alec rounds us all up and leads us to the House van out back to go to campus. As we pile inside, Alec asks Jack what we plan to do for his birthday. Jack just shrugs.

“Dunno. He won’t tell me anything except that—“

I smack his arm and shush him, reminding him, “It’s a SECRET!”

“That,” he finishes. “That it’s a secret.”

“Ah,” Alec chuckles. “One of THOSE presents. Well, I hope you guys enjoy it.” A few minutes later he’s pulling the van to the side of the road to let us all out. “See you guys later,” he calls.

Jack and Phil and I head in our usual direction together, until I have to break away from them to go to my lecture hall while Phil goes toward his building and Jack goes to Swope for his drum practice. But we squeeze in one last quick kiss before separating.

I don’t dislike my other classes, but today I have other things on my mind. So as the professor drones on, I end up staring out the window and playing with my hair while daydreaming. I’d really rather be back in bed with Jack, snuggled up naked together, curling his hair around my fingers and talking about quiet, soft things while kissing him...again and again...

It isn’t until there’s movement around me that I realize I’ve spent the entire lecture in a daze. I vow to pay more attention in my next class and hurry out of the hall.

After my second lecture is over, I walk outside with everyone else, but sure enough, I see the light blue hoodie and bright green hair sticking out from the crowd. I know he comes here to meet me every day, yet I still get a sense of relief and a thrill from seeing him waiting for me each time. He greets me with a peck on the cheek, then walks alongside me as we decide to have lunch today before my piano practice.

We each get a sandwich and then a large ice cream to share, and sit at an empty booth where I can lay down with my head in his lap while we take our time eating. We throw ideas back and forth about whom we can recruit for the band while he runs his fingers through my hair.

Then Jack goes quiet and still for a while, and I look up at him curiously. He’s wearing a strange expression, half-worried and half-annoyed.

“You okay, sweetie?”

He shrugs uncomfortably and tries to go back to eating his sandwich. “Just Jacob,” he answers around the food in his mouth.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Oh god. Is he here?”

“Yeah. Other side of the room. But he keeps looking over here. I can’t stand the way he eyes me up, like I’m some disgusting piece of shit on his shoe.”

“Ohhh...” I reach up to grab his collar and pull him down for a kiss. “Don’t you worry about that jerk,” I order him. “He’s just being a big baby about all of this. Ignore him.”

He straightens up slowly and has some ice cream before mumbling, “I know...just don’t like it.”

Piano practice goes smoothly. Jack, as usual, watches me play with his jaw hanging open, as if stunned that anyone can play that way. I rather like my piano professor; I’ve had him since my first semester, so we know each other’s styles. He knows how I play, I know how he teaches. And basically that’s just him letting me play and then offering little hints and advice to make things easier, or noting if I didn’t pick up on small details. He knows I know what I’m doing.

Jack is always so complimentary when we leave my practice, saying he’s never seen anyone play that well. I try to remind him of my actual, official “prodigy” status, which I know kind of stings because he’s been playing and practicing for years and still doesn’t know how to do some things, but they just came naturally to me.

But it’s not a serious envy - he always hugs me afterward and says he’s so lucky to know me, if only for getting the privilege to watch me play. I feel bashful for the praise, but he kisses me and tells me I’m amazing and he’s lucky.

We wait on benches outside Swope and talk about some of our songs while he plays with my hair. Alec picks us up in the van, drops Jack off at the station, then turns around to get Tana and PJ. Once home, I hole up in my room getting ready, in between working on homework and listening to “my man’s man,” Bryan the DJ, whom Jack produces.

“And that was System of a Down with ‘Chop Suey!’ Awesome song! Apparently my Mister Producer Man, Jack, can play that on the kit. ‘The kit,’ dear listeners, is drummer speak for ‘the drum kit.’ Hey Jack, why don’t they ever actually say ‘chop suey’ in that song? That was the surliest shrug I’ve ever seen in my life. I have a joke! What do you call the guy who hangs out with a group of musicians? Answer: the drummer! Ooh. Ooh! Jack, that look is...that one is deadly, my friend! Dear listeners, if I’m not here on Monday for my regularly scheduled broadcast, check the papers for - ‘A Headline’ - it’s Biffy Clyro! Happy birthday, Jack, you old fart...”

Around eight-thirty, Alec gets back from picking Jack up from the station, and a group of us - Dan, Phil, PJ, Felix, Marzia and Louise - are gathered in the dining room to greet him with more birthday wishes and a cake Louise made from scratch. I’m dithering at the top of the winding stairs, as I’m actually nervous to go down. 

I’m scared to be wearing this outfit in front of all of them, even if they are all my friends. I worry that I’ll just look ridiculous, a scrawny boy in a girl’s dress. I kept checking myself in the full-length mirror on what used to be Logan’s side of the room, trying to tell myself I look good, I look damn cute. 

But then I start to shake and I want to pull on one of Jack’s hoodies that he sometimes leaves here. Just let it swallow me up and hide. It’s scary to show myself off like this to anyone, even my own boyfriend, let alone go out in public like this.

I almost start to head back to my room to change, but then Dan calls up the stairs, “Troye! Where the hell are you?! Get down here so we can botch the Birthday Song for your boyfriend already!”

“C-coming,” I call back, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m cautiously stepping down the staircase until I’m in the room with all of them - and everyone practically gapes at me.

For a split second, my heart falls and I’m sure they’re all thinking I look disgusting. I nearly turn and race back up the stairs.

But then Louise grins, squealing over my dress and telling me how lovely I look. The others join in, and with every compliment I feel my self-consciousness ebbing.

I step closer to Jack, watching him hopefully. He still looks stunned.

“Um... Well?” I ask. “How d’you like it?”

To my surprise, he leans in close, wrapping an arm around my waist and planting a firm kiss on my lips, then proclaims, “You’re a princess!”

Not “You LOOK LIKE a princess” or “You COULD BE a princess.” But I AM a princess!

I can’t help the goofy grin from spreading on my face, and I thank him shyly. Then Louise reminds us of the cake as she lights the candles on top, and we all sing to him as he rolls his eyes - but even he has to smile at how silly we can be. He closes his eyes to make a wish - though he mutters, “I think I already GOT my wish...” - and blows out the candles, and we all dig in, as Louise threatens us she wants no leftovers. So Jack insists he needs to have two pieces because he doesn’t want to make Louise mad.

Right. It’s Louise who has the cake obsession, sure.

After we’re done scarfing down our sugar for the night, Jack mentions, “Well, now I feel underdressed. I look downright scuzzy next to you!”

I assure him he doesn’t need to dress up, and that he looks adorable to me, but he’s insistent that something needs to be done. So I lead him upstairs to the room and we start going through some of the clothes Cain gave me. He’s not quite as skinny as me, but he’s certainly very slim and small, so everything I have him try on still fits.

He finally settles on replacing his hoodie with a sleek silk black suit jacket. And it does look absolutely delicious on him over his black cotton button-down. As he fixes it in the mirror and wonders if he should try to find pants that might fit, I come up behind him, encircling his waist with my arms and kissing his neck.

“Don’t you dare change out of these,” I warn him, running my hands over his worn, tight blue jeans. “I like you in tight pants.” And to prove my point, I reach between his legs and stroke him, causing him to give a start.

He turns around, chuckling, and says, “Well, I don’t want to disappoint my princess.”

I startle him again with a swift smack on the ass and tell him, “You’d better not.”

He laughs outright. “Are you trying to dress me or get me OUT of my clothes? I could go either way, honestly, if you’d rather stay in...”

“No,” I sigh. “It’s a tough choice, but I did sort of work to make this happen, so I guess we should go.”

The cab I called for earlier shows up, and all our cheesy friends stand by the front door and wave and shout their goodbyes as we climb in. It’s a little warm for February but still chilly, so both of our rather thin clothes aren’t helping. Luckily the cab is warm and I know the theater will be too.

Jack obviously figures out what we’re doing when we’re let out at the cinema, but he doesn’t know all the details yet. We usually just go to the multiplex to see our movies, so he’s in awe of the old-fashioned cinema, the architecture and indoor décor. Dave meets us inside and after wishing Jack a “Happy birthday, sir,” he takes us to concessions, where popcorn, candy, and sodas are already out for us. (So much for the cake being our only sugar tonight.) Then he leads us to our theater.

OUR theater!

“Wait,” Jack whispers to me as we walk behind our cordial usher, “did he just say...”

But I just grin and say nothing, following behind Dave silently.

We get there, and Dave opens the door on the completely empty theater, holding out an arm dramatically. When Jack realizes it’s all for just the two of us, his jaw drops and he stands at the back, gazing over all of the vacant seats. I sneak up behind him and snake my arms around his waist.

“Do you like it?” I ask hopefully. “The whole place is ours. Pick wherever you want to sit.”

Jack lets out a tiny sound of giddiness as he turns to hug me, then laughs out loud and goes running to find our seats.

I thank Dave again and he nods at me before disappearing.

Obviously Jack picks the best seats in the house - right smack in the middle. I join him and he immediately starts asking about what we’re seeing. He makes a few wild guesses before I tell him to just shut up and wait for it, giggling at how excited he is. After only a few minutes, the house lights fade and the projector starts up. Seconds later, the film starts - no ads, promos or previews - just straight to the movie.

Jack gasps when he recognizes the beginning music and credits.

“Oh my god, you didn’t! Did you? Did you REALLY?”

I just smile as he glances back at me, looking shocked. He’s always wanted to see this movie in the theater. And when the opening scene starts, he’s ecstatic with boyhood giddiness. He leans into me and gives me a deep, grateful kiss.

“You’re amazing!” he declares when he pulls back and all I can do is smile back. It was definitely worth the money to see that look on his face.

Two and a half hours later, I call for a cab while the credits roll and Jack sits back, grinning like such a happy little boy. But it is late and we’re both pretty tired, so it’ll be nice to get home and curl up together under the covers. Besides, the theater probably wants to close too. After a nice, long hug and a sincere thank you, Jack stands and offers me his hand. He pulls me against himself, leading us out to the aisle.

“Kinda wish we could have another half-hour or so...” he muses.

“Really? What for?”

He doesn’t say a word, simply glances back at me with a smile and raises his eyebrows at me.

I laugh at his meaning and nod in agreement. Hell, if he’s that worked up about a movie, I’ll bet he’d get super hard for cinema sex...

The more I think about it, I have to correct him, “Maybe five minutes.”

Dave sees us out and wishes Jack a happy birthday again. 

Outside it’s gotten downright cold, and neither of us is dressed for the weather. The streets are absolutely desolate, and there’s no sign of our cab. It might just be late, but I don’t like the feeling in my gut. We walk around aimlessly for a while, trying to keep warm, but when it’s been half an hour with no cab, I try calling again. No answer. The lights to the theater shut off suddenly and we’re thrown into an eerie dimness, only lit by the street lamps set at certain intervals. I shiver unconsciously.

“Maybe try someone at the House?” Jack suggests.

Though people at the House have an annoying habit of going to bed early, even on weekends, I try some of the ones I know who drive. Dan doesn’t answer, which makes Jack laugh, “Probably too busy fucking Phil.”

I shrug. “You’re probably right.” So I try Traci and Alec, both with no answer.

I heave a sigh of irritation and anxiety as Jack comes up behind me to wrap his arms around me, rubbing my arms and trying to warm me up.

“We could start walking,” he suggests.

I groan, already feeling the weight of my boots wearing me down. But I have to shrug and say, “I guess that’s our last option.”

He kisses the side of my neck. “Want me to carry you?”

I laugh and pat his arm.

Our attention is suddenly drawn to a small group of raucous people half a block away. It startled me sharply, but Jack hugs me tighter, trying to calm me and guessing it’s just a bunch of college idiots coming out of a bar. I nod my agreement but all my muscles feel tense.

Jack glances around and points to a small alley between the theater and the building beside it.

“We could go in there. Look, I think there’s a light on the other side, probably for the theater parking lot. It looks brighter there. Do you want to go there instead until they go away? Then start walking home?”

I immediately nod without a word, and he keeps an arm around me as we head toward it.

We don’t even reach it before we hear a voice shouting, “Hey. HEY!”

We ignore the calls, even if they’re getting closer and are clearly directed at us. Jack rushes me into the alley and the shouting stops.

But just before we reach the other side, two shadowy figures move in from out of nowhere to block our path. I can even feel Jack tighten his arm around me in surprise. We come to a halt before we reach them and start back-tracking. 

“C’mon, better to be in SOME light,” he utters to me, and we turn to go back to the entrance. But just as we do, two more figures appear there, stopping us in our tracks again, and there’s simply no way this can be seen as anything but sinister.

Sure enough, the four people who had been hollering at us on the street are crowding around us now. Jack does some quick thinking and, putting himself between me and them, backs us up closer to the theater’s wall, so they can’t surround us, at least, but they still form a dangerous semi-circle around us. Jack pushes me further behind him, so they practically can’t see me, even though they already know I’m there.

I peek over his shoulder to see one of them come forward more, saying to Jack, “I know you.”

Strangely, the guy, who looks slightly familiar, doesn’t seem drunk at all. So I suppose they weren’t just drinking in a bar after all. Which kind of scares me more.

Jack stares up at the bigger guy and swallows hard before answering, “I remember you too. Didn’t you try to frame me with your cheating freshman year?”

“Dunno about that, JACKIE,” he replies in such a way that I believe what Jack says. “I was just thinking we might have a little fun with your friend you’re hiding back there.”

Jack reaches back with his arms, keeping me between them firmly. He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen, Jake,” he answers stoically. “I suggest you guys go about your night. We don’t want no trouble.”

The man - Jake? - leans in closer, and I can finally make out a sharp nose and blond hair. “Oh, I wasn’t askin’ your permission, Jackie boy,” he sneers as I finally work out whom he reminds me of. “I was just letting you know how my brother is going to get paid back for all the trouble that little tart caused him.”

I wince and clutch the back of Jack’s jacket, feeling my gut turning over as I realize who it is.

“Just gonna play with him a little,” he goes on, “teach him a lesson or two about accusing Logan of such disgusting things.”

I feel Jack’s hand slip into mine and squeeze tightly, trying to assure me. To Jake, he’s glaring him down even as the other three guys close in on us.

“You’ll have to kill me first,” Jack responds in his husky, lower tone.

Jake holds out his hands helplessly. “Well, I wasn’t PLANNING on it, but if you insist...”

And as he backs away quickly, the other three grab us - two hauling Jack away from me and the remaining one gripping my arms and twisting them awkwardly behind my back. I let out a startled shriek of fear as they separate us, and try to kick at this loathsome brother to keep his attention focused on me - but he’s too far away and he’s too absorbed in tantalizing Jack to even notice me.

“Y’know, Jackie, I never really did like you.”

“What a shocker.” Jack’s tone might sound dry, but his voice is trembling, giving himself away. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Jake hauls off instantly and lands a fierce punch to his stomach, folding Jack up and causing him to cough and gasp. Before he has time to recover, he punches him three times in quick succession across the face. I can’t help but scream at him to stop. But this bastard’s barely gotten started.

“JACK!” I scream as I see him spit out a mouthful of blood before taking yet another punch to the gut. “Please stop! Stop hurting him, please!”

But the bastard only responds with more punches to his face, yanking him sideways so fiercely that he almost hits the ground. He tugs himself one way just as one of the thugs pulls him the opposite, and even stubborn Jack can’t keep from letting out a cry of pain. His arm dangles awkwardly, limply to the side, and Jake turns to eye me up.

“‘Please,’ huh?” he repeats. He lets out a nasty chuckle and tells me, “Since you asked so nicely...”

And he whirls around and kicks Jack in the head - I can’t tell where, just that it’s enough to render him unconscious, a spray of blood dousing his bright green hair. The big guys let him go and he slumps to the ground on his side.

Panting and trembling with fear, I lift my head to see Jake coming towards me. He pulls a switchblade out of his pocket and opens it. How utterly 1980’s... but no less scary, however dated.

I pull my head back as he sticks his face way too close to mine, sneering at me, “Come on, baby, you know what I wanna hear.”

I shake my head timidly. “I-I don’t—“

“Sure you do. You were on the right track just a minute ago.”

“W-wha—“

He presses the knife flat against my throat, dragging it slowly across. I shiver the moment it touches me.

“Beg me.”

“B-beg? For w-what?”

“I could go over there this second and open his throat.”

I feel myself on the verge of tears, my breathing ragged and shaky, my body locked tensely in place. I’m too frozen inside to feel the real cold outside, and a few tears escape as I avert my eyes from his searing glare.

“P-please... d-don’t...”

“Or how about you?” he presses, lifting the blade to twirl in my loose curls. “I never knew what the fuck my brother was thinking when he went and fucked you, but seeing you now, in your pretty little dress and your pretty, scared face - I get it. So how about it, huh? Does the pretty little faggot wanna know how many dicks in a row he can take?”

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying and failing to bite back a fearful whimper.

He suddenly grabs the hem of my dress and bunches it up in a fist. “Easier access, I say,” and I scream as he starts tearing and stabbing at the material from the waist down, yanking me away from his pal and shoving me on my hands and knees on the ground. I feel him drop down behind me, hooking an arm around me and pulling me back against him...

And suddenly there’s a strong impact behind me, and I’m free. I scurry to the side, curling up and clutching my knees to my chest, as I watch Jack, his arms wrapped around Jake, tumbling away from me and the other three stunned fuckers. They roll away until Jack sticks out a leg to stop them so he’s on top, and he dips down and starts biting down hard on Jake’s face - hard enough to make the bastard screech in pain. Jack lets go and, teeth covered in blood, shrieks right back at him, scaring the shit out of the once dangerous maggot. Jack gropes him until he finds the knife, and screams again wordlessly as he hurls it in the direction of Jake’s friends, who all yelp and scatter in shock.

The next thing I know, Jack is laying into Jake like a madman, punching him repeatedly across the face with both fists and laughing hysterically, a shrill, high-pitched screech like a furious bird tearing at its prey.

Jake’s friends finally gather the courage to approach them, but every time one gets too close, Jack lashes out at them, grabbing limbs and biting with all his might.

Eventually, one figures out to go from behind, hitching his hands under Jack’s arms and dragging him away. But the instant he lets go, Jack reaches back to shove him to the ground and crawls like a maniac back to his real enemy. He gets in a few more lashes with clawed hands before the guy attempts it again while the other two grab their fallen leader and pull him to his feet. Then the four of them start lunging to get away.

“You’re lucky i didn’t kill you, you fucking psychopath!” Jake yells over his shoulder. “We’re watching you two on campus, believe me!”

And Jack just howls with laughter at him until they’ve all disappeared.

The next thing I know, he’s kneeling in front of me, stroking my hair and patting my arm, asking if I’m okay. He sees what Jake did to my dress and sighs ruefully over it.

“I’m so sorry, love. Maybe we can get it fixed...”

I snap my head up, showing him my tear-stained face, and I yell at him, “You stupid jerk! It’s not about the fucking dress!” And I grab his shoulders, pulling him to me to share a rather bloody but still sweet kiss - even with his swollen lips, he doesn’t turn away.

When I break away from him, I assure him, “I’m fine! I was terrified for YOU! My stupid, clueless birthday boy!”

He smiles deliriously, chuckles a little, and then abruptly his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses, unconscious, into my lap.

Ah, fuck.


End file.
